Memoirs of Merlin
by Moriah Muse
Summary: The great wizard Merlin pens his EARTHSHAKING thoughts, ignoring the amused looks Archimedes keeps shooting him. Merlin shares his opinions of Morgan le Fay, Arthur, Nimue, and other familiar characters of lore.
1. Musings of the Mighty Merlin

**Title:** Memoirs of Merlin  
**Author:** Mori  
**Disclaimer: **Merlin is an ancient character who's been used by countless authors for innumerable stories. He belongs to the world. However, I have written his journal as though he's a Harry Potter sort of wizard, the wizard whose beard people will one day swear by. Harry Potter does not belong to me. Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, Heyday/1498 films, and Raincoat books. This interpretation of Merlin and all his delightful quirks and quotes is MINE. Steal him and suffer my curse.  
**Rating: **PG for references to Arthur's immoral family, big words, and violence if I ever get that far  
**Summary:** Merlin decides his thoughts are valuable, important, and not at all as silly as Archimedes seems to think, so he begins a journal. He starts out with hopes of bettering future wizards' lives with his knowledge but ends up rambling, which turns out to be much more informative.  
**Author's Notes: **Don't get mad at me for failing to adjust my style fully to the time period! According to some myths, Merlin lived his life in reverse, so he knew all about modern speech and inventions. Er...right. ' To the fic!  


****  


  
**Spring Morning, Mid Lunar-Cycle:**  
  
Let it be known that I, Merlin the great and powerful wizard, here begin penning my most important and ingenious thoughts so that future wizarding generations can benefit from–  
  
Archimedes is laughing at me. Feathery nuisance.  
  
**Mid-Morning, Same Day:**  
  
It has occurred to me that future readers of this work may not understand what I have previously stated. That is, my owl, Archimedes, was shaking with silent mirth and hooting in a most derisive fashion. He knows full well that I hate it when someone reads over my shoulder.  
  
**Mid-Morning, Moments Later:**  
  
It has also occurred to me that future readers might doubt my owl's literary capabilities. I now assure said readers that Archimedes is the most intelligent bird I have met.  
  
Which is interesting, really, since owls as a species are quite dull, actually, but have been held in esteem for wisdom since the Hellenistic age. In reality, ravens and parrots are the smartest fowl, but they are too raucous as aides for a wizard operating in secret. Archimedes is the exception for his kind, capable of expressing uncanny emotion and locating other wizards at great distances.  
  
Of course, all wizards are distanced from here. No one likes a war-torn country, and magic is best performed away from mortals.  
  
"Mortals." Honestly, we're all mortal! We wizards may live longer, but we too must perish. Everything dies. What would life be without death?  
  
**Midday:**  
  
Boring, that's what.  
  
I really must call a meeting of the council to discuss better names for "mortals." Also to try and convince my comrades to come out of hiding at least so I can find them without Archimedes' help. Spell-casting in secret is wise, but we can't hide from the "mortals" forever. We need to make peace with them early on or we'll have another war.  
  
The problem is humanity. Humans are born with a tendency to fear what they do not understand, envy what they lack, and hate those unlike themselves. Mortals and wizards, we are all human, and we can all succumb to this unfortunate nature of our race.  
  
No one listens to me, that's the other problem. None of my magical peers take me seriously.  
  
Peers? What am I saying? I am, by far, the most powerful of the council, perhaps of the modern world, but my wisdom goes unheeded.  
  
Archimedes is laughing again. Pest.  
  
I'm certain the treatment I get from my fellows has nothing to do with my eccentricity. A sense of humour is imperative; every wizard should have one. With power should come the ability to laugh at oneself. I spent the majority of my youth using my magical ability in pursuit of trickery and jest. I invented quite a number of exploding devices that I still think brilliant. Alas, I fear my failure to take myself seriously has prompted my comrades to do the same.  
  
At least I'm not an arrogant elitist like that haughty Morgan le Fay. She is a perfect example of what happens when you refuse to embrace your faults and laugh at them. The way she struts around, you'd think SHE was the most powerful wizard in the land. She has talent, I cannot deny this, but she seems to believe that being fair and a Metamorphmagus and the youngest member of the council makes her an object worthy of worship. She actually wore a green velvet dress to our last assembly. As though she were holding court! I shall only say that some of the younger men found it very difficult to concentrate on the topics of debate.  
  
The only fault I can forgive of Morgan is the cold manner with which she treats me. She is understandably bitter about the Igraine/Uther enchantment. She had only been a small girl when I reluctantly concocted a Polyjuice Potion for Uther so he could pose as Igraine's husband for the night. I destroyed her family.  
  
I am not certain I would do it again. The Lady of the Lake's prophecy did state unarguably that Igraine and Uther's child would be king, and I have never doubted her visions. I suspect her of being descended from Cassandra or Aeneas' sibyl at the least. Still...  
  
Ah! Guilt is too heavy a feeling to relate for so long. Dislike is much easier to pen.  
  
I cannot forgive Morgan for her exclusionary attitude. She reviles "mortals" and anyone who carries blood of one or of a nonhuman creature.  
  
It's her fault the council voted against Nimue joining. Infernal green dress. I believe she's rather envious of Nimue's flawless beauty. Half-veela age with astonishing grace, perhaps because their hair is already silver. I have conveniently neglected to tell Morgan that Nimue is in fact my age.  
  
Archimedes is giving me a reproachful look. He is too wise for his own good. I must find him a nice female owl so he can spread his intelligence throughout owlkind. I could have quite a business, breeding and distributing messenger owls. But the council would probably dismiss it as an eccentric idea. Perhaps if I wore a green dress...  
  
Archimedes keeps looking at me. It is most unnerving, being fixed under that round, yellow stare. Odd...he only looks at me that way when I have forgotten something... O! Arthur is coming today!  
  
**After Noon:**  
  
Arthur has yet to arrive. It's unlike him to be late. I'm beginning to worry in an alarmingly paternal manner. Is that normal mentor behavior?  
  
Perhaps I should send Archimedes to search for him...  
  
I should make dinner. I haven't eaten all day in my eagerness to pen my _earthshaking_ thoughts.  
  
Archimedes is laughing too hard to fly. I'll have to go out myself. Overgrown sparrow.  



	2. An Unexpected Meeting

** Title:** Memoirs of Merlin  
** Author:** Mori  
** Rating:** PG  
** Disclaimer:** This interpretation of Merlin is mine, but the Harry Potter ideas incorporated in it are not.  
** Author's Notes:** Bear with me as I battle my easily confused mind and feebly attempt to chapter this thing. Anyone recognize the ancient Chinese story about the dragon thingy?   
  
**Evening:**  
  
Well.  
  
After traipsing through the woods for an age and getting a miniature forest stuck in my beard (complete with wildlife), I found him.  
  
Guess who was with him?  
  
O, you can't guess, can you? You're a piece of parchment. I shall have to spell some sentience into you in the absence of a riveted reader.  
  
_Nimue _was with him.  
  
"Merlin," she purred as I stumbled, aghast, into the clearing. "Does this belong to you?"  
  
She was sitting on a log next to a bewildered Arthur with the grace and dignity as if she was seated on a throne. Arthur, the actual royal, tried not to look at her, but his eyes slid inexorably toward her every few moments before he tore them away again. I half expected him to greet me with a changed voice.  
  
"I, er, forgive me, Merlin: I got lost," he stammered. The poor boy looked close to collapsing--whether from exhaustion, trauma, or puberty I'm not entirely certain.  
  
"It's all right, Arthur," I told him in what I pray was a reassuring manner. I admit I wasn't looking at him when I said it.  
  
"Merlin," Nimue breathed again. She flips her "r's" when she says it in such a lyrical way. "What are you doing with this young man?"  
  
Arthur is hardly a young man, though I must admit at last that he is almost one.  
  
"He is my pupil and friend," I replied.  
  
"Why, Merlin!" she smiled.. "You never told me you had a ward."  
  
At once, I understood Arthur's behaviour, growing suddenly unable to meet Nimue's silver-blue eyes. I looked elsewhere, everywhere, anywhere but at her. I stared intently at Arthur's left ear, which caused him to turn around uncomfortably to see if I was looking behind him (staring at someone's left ear, I discovered in my merry youth, is a wonderful way to bother them). I shifted my gaze to the boy's hair instead, noting with pleasure that it was sandy brown, not at all like his half-sister's natural near-black.  
  
"Well, I, er, we'd best be off, Arthur m'lad," I muttered.  
  
Arthur leaped to his feet and eagerly moved to my side. We turned to leave, but Nimue caught my arm.  
  
"Wait, Merlin. I must speak with you."  
  
I don't recall sending Arthur ahead or sitting down on the log with Nimue gazing dazedly into her icy eyes, but there I was. She leaned unnecessarily close, stunning me with the scent of lilies. I was completely and regrettably enthralled.  
  
"I know you fought on my behalf with the council," she murmured mellifluously. "And I'm so grateful to you for it. Yet, I wonder, may I ask of you another favor?"  
  
"Hngh," I gasped.  
  
She took that as a yes, grinning so beautifully that the sun dropped in the heavens to better see the beam that outshone his own.  
  
"Because I am not allowed to sit on the council and learn of new magic there, would you teach me what you know?"  
  
I blinked, regaining a bit of intelligent thought. "Wh–what?"  
  
Nimue leaned so our shoulders touched, her hair brushing my arm. "You're so wise! You are undoubtedly the best of the council. Could you not show me a little of your extensive knowledge?"  
  
Ah! She had appealed to my ego, and Archimedes wasn't there to keep it in check. I was already light-headed–now my head swelled to a size that rivaled Morgan's.  
  
"I–I'd love to," I said without thinking.  
  
Then Nimue did a very un-Nimue-ish thing: she squealed like a young girl and hugged me excitedly. It was not a seductive or loving embrace. She was genuinely thrilled. I blinked again, shock further clearing my mind and deflating my head. I was able to learn briefly what was going on in that strange mind of hers.  
  
I saw her come upon a flustered Arthur in the forest, approaching him amiably but with the air of a cat stalking her prey. She asked him conversationally–more like an interrogation–who he was and what he was doing here. He told her he studied with Merlin, and hope of likewise learning from me danced through her mind. Only she wanted to learn magic so she could–  
  
Nimue suddenly released me, composed again as if the hug had never passed. The light in her face and eyes was gone. I had been shut out.  
  
If she has taught herself Occlumency, what knowledge can I really offer?  
  
When I caught up with Arthur, I told him we'd skip today's lesson and move on to history next time. He seemed both disappointed and relieved. I returned home and collapsed in this chair, feeling drained. Odd. I've hardly done any magic today. Surely seeing into Nimue's mind didn't undermine my energy? No. I fear it is Nimue herself that has that weakening effect.  
  
Perhaps I won't get Archimedes a female owl. He'd be much better off a bachelor.  
  
**Following Morning:**  
  
Curses. I cannot stop thinking about Nimue and possibly teaching her. That would be most odd, instructing a peer. Really, I should stop pondering it. It can't possibly be that difficult or that awkward.  
  
**Mid-Morning, Same Day:**  
  
I sincerely hope she does not show up in a green velvet dress.  
  
**Mid-Morning, Moments Later:**  
  
Not that I would find that distracting. It would merely be cumbersome and might catch fire while working at a cauldron.  
  
**Moments Later:**  
  
I just realized we never agreed on a specific time. Suppose she just—shows up?  
  
And I still have twigs in my beard.  
  
**Moments Later:**  
  
Not that I care.  
  
**Moments Later:**  
  
Archimedes is sitting on my comb. May he choke on his next owl pellet and die!  
  
**Midday:**  
  
Not that I needed the comb. It's just a very fine relic, an ivory trinket I picked up in Africa while studying the beasts there. Although I really don't approve of the slaughter of animals for their tusks, it was a gift. And really, there are plenty of creatures roaming that continent, it's not as though they will be—  
  
Oh, dear. I must send word to my compatriots there about possible dangers of overhunting.  
  
Not that they will listen to me.  
  
No one does.  
  
I think I'll have rice for lunch. Nice, grainy dish I picked up during my travels in the orient. The plants don't do well in England's climate, but a little bit of magic and they thrive.  
  
Rather like that many-headed Fireball I had to thwart while in China. The monster thrived and terrorized the countryside for an age. Honestly, if that man was going to breed beasts that wildly, he deserved to have a few of his daughters eaten.  
  
Archimedes is giving me a reproachful look. I didn't mean to sound cruel! His daughters were inane, subservient little dolls. Rather like elves, actually, only slightly taller and clothed in silks. And I did get rid of the dragon! Quite simply, I might add. The beast was most stupid—clearly not every head was equipped with a brain—and mistook reflections in wine for real humans. That overly heroic lad didn't need to lash out so viciously with his sword, however. Dragon blood is impossible to get out of one's hat, so now mine has an unattractive red stain on the rim.  
  
**After Lunch:**  
  
Still, I'm the most powerful wizard in the country. You'd think I would be able to get rid of a simple stain...  
  
And no, this has naught to do with Nimue, so Archimedes can stop winking at me.  
  
**Moments Later:**  
  
Can owls wink?  
  
Perhaps I imagined it.  
  
**Moments Later:**  
  
By my beard, he did it again!  
  
What an irritating familiar I have. Icarus was much better company, if a bit foolishly brave. But I have settled down, and I cannot ask a wild falcon to reside in a dilapidated cottage. Merlins must soar free!  
  
Even this Merlin. I fully intend to resume my worldly wanderings once Arthur is seated soundly on his throne. I may not be able to travel as quickly as I once could across land, but my magical ability has improved greatly and may render journeys on foot unnecessary. Icarus, as always, can ride thermals high above us insignificant humans. I may have to transform and join him, though that would hinder transport of my various tools and articles.  
  
Alas, I'm growing nostalgic. I remember cavorting across the country with my loyal falcon perched on my shoulder as a boy no older than Arthur, committing mild acts of chaos and never getting caught. Somehow, word of my powers still reached the king, who was eager to use my blood for the foundation of his castle. That was an unpleasant experience, believing I would be killed and talking my way out of it. Talk, I have found, can move people more than swords or spells. Words have a great power that can be used for good to build a kingdom or for ill to destroy it.  
  
My, that is an unhappy thought. Camelot has yet to be founded and I'm fretting over its decimation. With Arthur as king, how could anything go wrong?  
  
**Evening:**  
  
Unless Morgan was queen.  
  
I shudder even to write it.  
  
Fortunately, she and Arthur are related, and she could not possibly join with him to gain the power she craves. 


	3. Dreamers Often Lie

**Title:** Memoirs of Merlin  
**Author:** Moriah Muse, whose own muse wakes her at ungodly hours of the morning to sleepily jot down ideas for this story  
**Disclaimer:** This Merlin = MINE! No touchy! Harry Potter = J.K. Rowling and all her affiliates. No touchy! I believe the reference to being hung from the ceiling by one's fignernails comes from _Lamentations of a Starry-Eyed Twit_, the fic that inspired me to attempt diary form.   
**Author's Notes:** I'd like to thank everyone who's reading this (all two of you) for your fantastic support and positive feedback and whatnot. Merlin's quite fun to write for. I hope his ramblings are just as fun to read. Can you guys catch the brief references to Shakespeare and a certain 60's musical?  
**Dedication:** For Kitty, who is always supportive of my feeble attempts at fanfics which pale in comparison to her own glorious work, and for She's a Star (Nita), who gave Merlin his first reviews. Which were very well-thought-out, nice reviews that told me exactly what I was doing right. ::sniffle:: I love you guys!   
  
**An Hour I Care Not To Disclose:**  
  
I am plagued with most disturbing thoughts...  
  
A figure of bluish light haunts my dreams. I repeatedly hurl spells at it, but it catches them and flings them back at me. I am forced to back up and find myself trapped against a stone wall. The luminous form raises its arm threateningly and—lowers it. The light dims, and it vanishes. I fall backwards against the rock and wake.  
  
On the floor.  
  
Archimedes was so startled, he did not have any scornful looks ready to throw in my earthward direction. He hooted softly and tilted his head. I got up, groaning like some feeble old man—which I am not!—and collapsed again on the bed.  
  
I doubt whether this nightmare was prophetic, but it would do no harm to consult the Lady about it. I'll visit her on the morrow.  
  
**Next Morning:**  
  
Odd.  
  
Upon waking this morning, I did not recall my dream at all. Had I not written of it here, I would have failed to remember it. It's fortunate I penned the details last night while they sat fresh in my mind. I shall take this document with me when I see the Lady.  
**  
Midday:**  
  
By my beard, that woman is nearly as insane as I am.  
  
Not that I am insane.  
  
I am lovably eccentric.  
  
The Lady of the Lake, however, is very distant and a bit eerie, as though she was born in the wrong time on the wrong planet.  
  
She is lovely in her own right, not beautiful like Morgan or stunning like Nimue, but her grace and calm extend to her features, making her content and slightly sad smile very sweet. She wears simple robes of blue, green, gray, and white, depending on the appearance of the Lake according to the season. She does not own anything revealing or velvet. Her eyes are wide and searching, like moons reflected in water. Her hair that falls in waves is so fair it appears white, though she may not be as aged as I am. Still she seems ageless, and I know her wisdom exceeds my own.  
  
I found her sitting at the water's edge, her feet—always bare—resting in the shallows. Without turning, she addressed me in her voice like raindrops on a river's surface.  
  
"Ah. Merlin. I expected you earlier."  
  
She wished me to sit on the rock across from her, I knew, but I remained standing, leaning on my staff.  
  
"I dreamed a dream last night."  
  
The Lady smiled and looked over her shoulder at me. "So did I. Everyone dreams each night, but rarely do we remember. When we do, it may be of import."  
  
"Curiously, Lady, I did not remember my dream. I have only what it written here." I handed her the parchment.  
  
Her large eyes drifted pensively across the page.  
  
"Ah," she murmured.  
  
"What is it?" I asked.  
  
She fixed me sadly with those luminous eyes. "You will be betrayed."  
  
"What?" I sputtered. "By whom? I've no foes!"  
  
"You think them friends," she said gently. "And one has yet to live."  
  
"You mean someone unborn? How could one that young harm me so?"  
  
The Lady sighed. "He will harm you indirectly by hurting another."  
  
Who is so dear to me that an injury to them would affect me? Arthur! I suddenly wished the boy were with me, that I might draw him to me protectively.  
  
"Who dares—or, will dare?" I demanded.  
  
She smiled regretfully. "I know not. I can only tell you that he is a sower of discord. He will end what you begin."  
  
Not Camelot! Can a dream truly reveal so much? Must I really lose Arthur and his kingdom to one man? I'd trade Camelot and all of England if it meant Arthur would live.  
  
"You spoke of multiple enemies," I ventured. "Can you warn me of the others as well?"  
  
The Lady looked away. I was surprised; she usually maintains eye contact until, awed, I am the one forced to cast my glance aside. She stared apologetically at the waters of her home.  
  
"The other is too close to you for me to tell. It may be someone very dear." She turned to me again, her normally static expression growing concerned. "Do not let a broken heart stop you from being the greatest wizard of all time."  
  
I stared at her, shocked. I nodded and managed to thank her before hastening home. I stalked through the door and glared at Archimedes suspiciously until he rolled his eyes and caused me to feel rather foolish. I retrieved the rest of my memoirs and began documenting the morning's events. Most curious.  
  
Will Camelot really last for one brief shining moment?  
  
**Next Day, After Noon:**  
  
I caught Arthur nodding off today as I attempted to teach him history and I made him clean up Archimedes' owl pellets. He grew rather cross and complained that history shouldn't be so boring. I admit I had been drifting into a bit of a monotone but I was talking about the slaying of the chimera, and by my beard, that's a riveting story! Honestly. People have no idea how trying it is teaching young children. I think it would be much easier—granted, more dangerous—to be king than a teacher. Really, Arthur shouldn't complain. It's not as though I have him attached by his fingernails to the ceiling, though I daresay that would have taught him a lesson.  
  
I do love him. Really.  
  
I wonder if I immersed myself so fully in today's lesson to busy my mind? Am I attempting vainly to keep from thinking about certain enchanting half- veela witches who have yet to contact me about lessons?  
  
Of course not.  
  
I think I will begin planning future lessons. Not to steer my mind away from—people—but to be better prepared. Let me see...I should teach him values, an appreciation for nature, how to properly wield an enchanted sword--  
  
There is a sound outside! Is it--?  
  
No. There is no one at my door. Foolishness.  
  
Where was I? Ah. Ideas for teaching Nim—Arthur. How can I make lessons more interesting? When he was small and I was teaching him to write, we played a game at rearranging letters. "I am the king" became "I think game," "of Uther Pendragon" became "gone proud father" with an "n" left over, "Stonehenge" became "get no sheen." Arthur also began turning things 'round. He discovered those delightful words that are the same both ways, such as "moon" and "noon." He also found that "Desire" becomes "Erised" when spelled backwards. "Erised," of course, is not a real word, but it taught the boy how to spell.  
  
By my beard, something made a noise at my window! It is the same sound as before, though I realize now it couldn't possibly be a person.  
  
I'm telling Archimedes to go open the window. He's giving me that "I'm not your slave!" look but of course he is complying grudgingly.  
  
Ah! Icarus is here! An unforeseen and welcome visit.  
**  
Evening:**  
  
Have I properly introduced Icarus on these pages? I think not.  
  
Ahem.  
  
Icarus was my first pet bird and faithful friend when I was the sole wizard in the country. Some may think it odd that my only childhood companion was a wild falcon, but I was less lonely wandering the moors with Icarus than among crowds of humans. I named him Icarus, of course, after the unfortunate youth of myth, son of the inventor Daedalus, whose waxwings melted when he flew too near the sun. I did not think my merlin friend would perish if he flew too high—he is a bird, obviously!—but he has the same youthful, adventurous curiosity and joy of life as his namesake. And as me.  
  
I met him when I was first practicing transforming. I am an Animagus, so of course my animal form is a merlin. Icarus came across me in the sky and thought me a rival—young male birds of prey do not share territory well. He shrieked and pursued me until I was forced to land and change back into a human. Instead of taking off again disinterestedly or fleeing as other merlins might, Icarus remained and stared at me in utter fascination. I hesitated and then transformed back. We were able to communicate and found we were kindred spirits. We became close friends and had many adventures together.  
  
Being the friend of a wizard has prolonged Icarus' life. I fear I may yet outlive him, but for now he is as energetic as the day I met him. I have warned him not to wander into forests where hunters may fire at him, as he may still be slain, and he has thus far heeded my advice—the first living creature to do so—and remained out of harm.  
  
I would like to point out that, during my exploits as a merlin, I found that the air actually grows colder as one ascends, so the idea of the sun melting one's wings is ridiculous.  
  
Anyway.  
  
Icarus came to tell me a strange woman is wandering around the edge of my woods. –The woods do not actually belong to me, but no other humans besides Arthur bother to venture here, and Icarus thinks the forest to be my "territory." Icarus seemed to think the woman a threat and related huffily that she shot "red lightning" at him with a stick.  
  
So a witch is stalking about my woods—er, THE woods—shooting sparks at unsuspecting merlins, eh? I'll put a stop to her! I'll—  
  
Bless my beard! Someone knocks at my door.  
  
**Night:**  
  
Well. That was...interesting. I'll begin where I ended:  
  
Icarus glared out the window at whoever knocked and fixed me with his fierce and piercing stare.  
  
_It's her._  
  
I slipped my wand from its traveling niche in the end of my staff and slunk to the door. I thrust it open to find—  
  
Nimue.  
  
"Merlin," she purred in that disarming way of hers. "I thought we could discuss our lessons. Ah, I see you already have your wand out."  
  
Beards are glorious things. They mask reddened cheeks wonderfully.  
  
"Eh," I said intelligently.  
  
Nimue glided in, nonchalantly twirling her wand. Her silver hair caught the weak candlelight and sent scintillations across the walls. I closed the door after her, frantically searching my brain for a polite topic of conversation. Nimue continued toying with her wand and grinned.  
  
"Er," I said. "Lovely wand."  
  
She smiled. "Thank you. Four hands, dragon heartstring."  
  
Odd. I had assumed she had used her mother's hair for the core of her wand.  
  
"Interesting," I said. "Mine is dragon heartstring as well."  
  
"And you have owned that wand so long! How did you come by its core when you were young?"  
  
I shook off my stupor and attempted to converse normally. "Well, George and his army of dragon slayers were annihilating dragons all over the land. Ever a lover of life, even wild dragon life, I intervened to prevent them from destroying the entire species. I arrived at one scene too late, however. In addition to being an advocate of life, I am an analyst, so I gathered the various valuable dragon parts the slayers had so irreverently left to rot so that I might use them in my studies. I did not want to feel like a grave robber, however, so I took only one of each body part."  
  
Nimue stared. "But I came upon my dragon's body abandoned on a plain! It had one heartstring missing. Do you think it may have been the same beast?"  
  
"It is possible," I shrugged. "Two members of the council took feathers from the same phoenix."  
  
"I believe it's a sign. Our friendship was meant to be!" Nimue laughed, filling the dreary cottage with light and mirth.  
  
"Eh," I said, glad again of my beard.  
  
Nimue finished laughing—I could have listened to her for an eon—and smiled at me. "When might we begin my lessons?"  
  
"Er," I said.  
  
"Does mid-week work?" she inquired.  
  
"Eh, er, yes. Yes, Arthur usually comes at the beginning and end of the week."  
  
"Excellent!" Nimue beamed. "I shall see you in the middle of next week."  
  
"Er, yes." I said.  
  
Nimue crossed our wands in a salute. "Very well! Until then, Merlin."  
  
I love how she says my name!  
  
She left then, and the cottage seemed empty. Icarus gave me a calculating look. He doesn't trust her, but he sees how I enjoy her company and will let it be for now. He fluttered awkwardly beneath the ceiling and landed on my shoulder, as is our ritual. I stroked his head and muttered, "Away!" and he departed.  
  
Archimedes is far less supportive. He is all puffed up in that owl defensive position, where they fluff their feathers to appear bigger and more intimidating. He actually hissed as Nimue left.  
  
Downy idiot. I bet his mother knocked his egg from the nest. That would explain his intelligence and poor social skills.  
  
Only six days until Nimue comes again. 


	4. Unwelcome Guests and Animal Conspiracies

**Memoirs of Merlin**  


**Author's Notes:** Woo! I have THREE readers! ::dances:: Thank you all very much! I have discovered that my muse feeds on feedback. I just wrote this chapter today! I think my muse ultimately lives for keeping me up all night or waking me early in the morning, though. Fear my Monty Python and HP movie references! And quail before the squirrel army. Quail, I say!  
  
**An Unholy Hour of the Morning:**  
  
I had that nightmare again. I sincerely hope it will not become recurring. I do not like being reminded that Arthur might be killed and that Camelot may fall.  
  
Why did the Lady bother telling me all this Once and Future King nonsense if it will all amount to naught?  
  
Perhaps I could teach Arthur some defensive spells? Ah, but the boy hasn't a magical bone in his body. Bless him.  
  
Archimedes is gone, perhaps out hunting. I wish he wouldn't eat squirrels; I'm rather fond of the furry little creatures. Squirrels can be quite dangerous, however. They're easily irritated and hurl nuts at you if you disturb their tree in bird form.  
  
Not that I would know from experience.  
  
I suspect the squirrels have some secret rodent army, and it is only a matter of time before they invade, attacking everything in their path with nasty, biting teeth!  
  
...  
  
I am even more insane than usual early in the morning. Wait...not insane, lovably eccentric. Yes.  
  
I'm going to bed, before I get myself killed by squirrels, or worse, sleep- deprived.  
  
...  
  
I need to prioritize. Or go back to sleep.  
**  
Mid-Morning:**  
  
The nerve of that woman!  
  
I may have disliked her before, but I am now quite certain that I despise her.  
  
HATE!  
  
Hmm. It was rather cathartic to nearly tear the parchment in my rage. Now I may be calm enough to relate what just occurred (HATE!)...  
  
I slept through the sunrise, having wasted valuable sleeping time last night—actually, in the early morning only hours before—writing about the coming squirrel invasion. I was abed, snoring quite contentedly, thank you, when a sharp and impatient rapping at my door tore me rudely from my slumber. I grunted groggily and tumbled out of bed. It took me several moments to pull on my robe, as I was so weary I kept putting my arm through the wrong sleeve. My inconsiderate visitor knocked more loudly. I staggered sleepily to the door and thrust it open irritably.  
  
"Who calls?" I croaked. "You woke me!"  
  
Morgan le Fay raised a perfect brow. "Really? I hadn't expected the 'wisest' of the council to waste half his days sleeping. The sun came up hours ago."  
  
"Engh?" I blinked up at the sky and saw that she was right.  
  
"Well?" Morgan sniffed. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"  
  
I stared at her blankly. "No. Not unless you have a reason for coming and rudely awakening me."  
  
"Trust me, I would not have ventured into these forsaken woods if I did not have business with you," she stated with displeasure.  
  
Irreverent wench. There was a time when elders were respected. Really, the forest is the best environment for a wizard to operate. It is near to nature, a better place to clear one's mind for magic than in a smelly village or cold stone castle. Morgan would probably love to work in a castle, surrounded by gaudy elegance and attended by an army of servants. Though personally, I would not object to living in a functional, warm castle, as long as it was in the woods. And near a lake. Perhaps the Lady's lake...  
  
I scowled and reluctantly moved from the doorway to let Morgan pass. She swept in haughtily in an overly dramatic swirl of black. Do you know what she did then?  
  
O. You are still a mindless, inanimate piece of parchment. Remind me to charm some brains into you.  
  
--Then, Morgan took in the interior of the cottage with an imperious glance. And she sneered. At my home! As though all great wizards are expected to live on estates in grand palaces. My residence is simple and functional. Granted, it is also filled with the neat clutter of a working scholar, but it reflects my eccentricity. The bed, of course, was unmade, but Archimedes had yet to return so the floor beneath this perch was free of owl pellets. I imagine Morgan would have left right then if there had been small balls of fur and bones about. Then I would have been freed of her arrogance.  
  
Morgan removed her traveling cloak with an unnecessary flourish and peered about the cottage. She was obviously looking for a place to hang it, or perhaps for an overworked servant to thrust it upon. I bet she would have loved it if I had a mistreated elf for her to kick. I noticed that she was wearing a red dress that was needlessly tight about the bodice.  
  
"Just keep it on," I smirked. "You'll not be staying long, and your seductress's garb has no effect on me."  
  
Ah. The way her sneer transposed to a snarl! She had no beard to hide her embarrassment. It was most satisfying to at last wound that swollen ego.  
  
"Do not insult me, old man. You have made my life wretched enough," she whispered.  
  
I winced, though I do not think she realizes how remorseful I truly am about helping Uther deceive her mother. Still, judging by her extravagant wardrobe, her life is relatively comfortable now. I stared guiltily at the pellet-free floor as she donned her cloak.  
  
"I came," Morgan stated. "To warn you against cavorting with that half- human Nimue."  
  
I bristled, my head snapping up. "What business is it of yours who I socialize with?"  
  
"It is the council's business. We would prefer that you refrain from associating with one whom we have deemed unfit to join our numbers."  
  
"One _you _have deemed unfit," I growled.  
  
Morgan sneered. "Perhaps. Just know that you go against the council's wishes."  
  
"How do you even know I have met with her?"  
  
"That," she scoffed. "Is none of your concern. What matters is that we know."  
  
"You are poisoning the minds of the council members. You sow doubt and strife for your own benefit. You hunger for supremacy even more than those now feuding for the throne." I leaned toward her, leaking some power into my words. "What would you do to take it from them, Morgan?"  
  
Morgan hissed like a threatened cat. Most wizards feel threatened when I allow my power to become palpable, but Morgan alone had reason to be wary.  
  
"Go," I commanded. "Unless you have some other prejudice with which to waste my time."  
  
She snarled and stalked from the cottage, knocking several items from the table as she left. I said "_Reparo_!" a bit too angrily, causing my model flying machine to splinter further. Arrogant, sneering wench. She must practice sneering before her looking glass. I should have told her twisting her mouth like that ruins her face. She's so obsessed with her appearance, it might have spared me future sneers.  
  
**Evening:**  
  
Archimedes has still not returned. As irksome as he is, I am beginning to worry. Were it lighter outside, I could transform and go searching for him. If only merlins could see in the dark...  
  
Perhaps I should contact Icarus and find if he has seen the infernal owl.  
  
**A Short While Later:**  
  
Confound all birds! Icarus too is missing.  
  
**Moments Later:**  
  
You don't suppose it's the fowl that have the conspiracy, and not the squirrels?  
**  
Moments Later:**  
  
What am I going on about? You can't suppose anything (yet), and there are no secret animal organizations!  
  
**Night:**  
  
I have looked out of the window a total of three hundred and seventy-seven times.  
  
Three hundred seventy-eight.  
  
Where could he possibly be?  
  
Well. I will not waste time worrying about it. He has been gone much longer than this before...though that was while he was delivering a message. I mean, he has a right to have a life outside of this cottage. He is probably doing all sorts of interesting owl things. Perhaps he has even met that nice female owl.  
  
But then why would Icarus be gone? It's unlikely he has found a nice female merlin. Female merlins generally aren't very nice.  
  
Not that I would know from experience.  
  
I am going to bed now. I refuse to wonder about the love lives of my nonhuman friends.  
**  
Moments Later:**  
  
Truly. I am just—not tired. Suffering from insomnia. Yes, that's it.  
  
**Moments Later:**  
  
Truly! I should make a sleeping potion.  
**  
Moments Later:**  
  
In a minute. First I have to...make sure that the windowsill is clean.  
  
Three hundred seventy-nine.  
  
DAMN! 


	5. Unrest at Stonehenge

**Author's Notes:** This chapter was unnaturally fun to write. I loved coming up with names and personalities for the council members. I bet you all can guess where Archie and Icarus have been, but don't. It ruins my fun. If Merlin seems a bit less enamored, it's because being away from Nimue for long periods brings him to what few senses he has. But we love him no matter what! Enjoy all the interesting unrest in the wizarding community of old. Thanks again for all the lovely reviews!   
  
**Near Midnight (cannot be certain, because a certain supercilious witch broke my timepiece):**  
  
Archimedes soared silently through the window a few minutes ago. I was up waiting for him like an overprotective parent.  
  
"About time!" I shouted.  
  
He started, clearly having assumed that he could just sneak back in while I slept.  
  
"Just where have you been for the past—" I glanced mournfully at my broken dials and hourglasses. "Twenty-some hours?"  
  
He ignored me like some silently guilty youth. Is everyone going to act insane today? Why not have Arthur show up to say he wants to be a eunuch? Nimue can rush in to declare that she and Morgan are now the best of friends and have joined together to torment the entire male population. And my hat will start talking—no, singing. And Arthur can provide the descant.  
  
A plague on that owl! He winked AGAIN.  
  
At least I can finally go to sleep in peace.  
  
I pray I have no nightmares about singing hats. Though they would be an improvement from the prophetic visions of betrayal.  
  
Before it is actually midnight and technically morning—five days until Nimue comes again.  
  
**Following Morning:**  
  
I did not sleep in today.  
  
I just thought I would tell you...parchment. Why did you forget to remind me to give you a way of answering me?  
  
Archimedes is still sitting stoically, firm in his refusal to let me know what he and Icarus were up to last night. I admit I attempted to bribe him with a dead rat I had been planning to use for greater purposes, but he remained unmoved.  
  
At least one soul brought me cheer today. Nimue sent a clever little flower in a bottle that closes in light and opens in darkness. Was that not thoughtful?  
  
It does remind me of her rather incessantly.  
  
Which could be part of her plan.  
  
What plan? I merely have a feeling she is planning something. I do wish I could see her thoughts more clearly...  
  
Archimedes just showed his first sign of life since blinking. He was beginning to resemble a stuffed owl, the sort that doubtlessly adorns Morgan's home (castle?). He ruffled his feathers in that threatened manner and glared at me. Does he not know that bad moods are catching?  
  
"I could have kept the window closed," I told him nastily.  
  
Archimedes made a disdainful noise and faced the wall, fanning his tailfeathers at me most insultingly. I snorted and have merely to look at the flower again to regain my joy.  
  
**Midday:**  
  
It occurred to me that I should not have to rely on a mere flower to improve my mood. I shall put it away.  
**  
A Short While Later:**  
  
It opened when I put it in the chest. I blinked at it and found I could not look away until it was out upon my desk once more.  
  
Most unsettling.  
  
Nimue is too clever for her own good. Surely she didn't mean for that to be part of the spell?  
  
She did. One cannot include something that complex and not realize it.  
  
I—  
  
Looked at the flower again, and no longer care.  
  
It is a menace.  
**  
Moments Later:**  
  
It is a flower! A simple blossom cannot possibly be—  
  
Still. I am going to ask Archimedes to dispose of it.  
  
Not that he will. He rarely listens to me.  
  
**Evening:**  
  
Very well. Not only did Archimedes obey, he complied happily. Willingly! As though he thought it a grand idea and was proud of me for asking him. I nearly expected to hear a loud shattering noise as he dashed the bottle against the ground, but he must have flown too far away.  
  
This attitude undoubtedly has something to do with his disappearance.  
  
I am both sad and relieved that the flower is gone. Perhaps I should have saved it and unwoven the spells to find how it worked? I could have taken it with me to the council meeting tonight, though Morgan would have rejoiced, thinking it incrimination of Nimue.  
  
Four days until the flower-sender comes again. I no longer look forward to it so eagerly.  
  
**Following Morning, Mid-Morning:**  
  
I could not possibly rise early this morn. The meeting stretched long into the night; I bet Morgan is still snoring. She strikes me as one who secretly snores. Of course, I did not think I snored until Archimedes began pecking me in the middle of the night until I turned over.  
  
It is the end of the week, so Arthur is at home (if you can refer to it as such). He is probably attending church right now or studying his verses. It is good for him, though I believe it would be good for him to study the teachings of other religions as well. The Goddess teaches some fine values, as well do the deities and mantras of the East. But I fear men here are as closed minded as the council.  
  
I found last night, much to my dismay, that many share Morgan's sentiments genuinely, though others merely agree to avoid debate. I find it terribly ironic that Nimue indirectly ended a potentially dangerous argument.  
  
We gathered at Stonehenge. Arriving last, I alone saw the moon perfectly framed in the window of rock. I entered the circle and saw the council members illuminated by fairies convinced to alight upon the stones. Morgan looked impatient, Ariel distracted, Felix thought he had better things to do, and Janus bored. Deacon, Quillan, and Riordan were indifferent, engaged in polite conversation. The others, who I did not know as well, sat in silence. Elwin spotted me first and extended his usual warm greeting.  
  
"Hail, Merlin! How do you fare? At last our assembly is whole."  
  
"Hail, Elwin." I smiled. "I have fared better, and worse. Let us begin."  
  
Morgan snorted. "At last!"  
  
"You merely hinder us more with your disrespect," Mab croaked.  
  
Mab is perhaps the only council member older than I am. As the elder, she rules each meeting and judges any debates. She is wise and strictly just. Her only fault, in my opinion, is a need for constant order. A little chaos now and then jars the spirit, keeping the soul from stagnating. I have not mentioned this to Elwin, who is particularly fond of her because they both take interest in magical beasts and beings.  
  
"I call this assembly to order. Let the meeting of witches and wizards begin." Mab struck the air with her wind, sounding an invisible bell. "Who wishes to address the council?"  
  
Morgan, Elwin, and Riordan stepped forth. Knowing what Elwin wanted (ever did he have an idea), Mab allowed him to speak first. Two fairies fluttered in to make him more visible, flashing their wings vainly. Elwin's round, eager face glowed with more than fairy light, and his simple garb seemed fine as silk in the tiny rays. Still, it pained me that his best robes were so plain. I must get him new ones. He so deserves it...  
  
"I wish to bring to the council's attention a matter of growing concern. The centaurs have retreated further into the old forest and have severed virtually all contact with humans. They claim it is because of the war."  
  
Janus waved a careless hand. "It is no concern of ours. If they choose not to associate with us, then we will not associate with them."  
  
"It is not that simple!" Elwin wrung his worn robes. "They are invaluable allies as well as—"  
  
"Half-humans."  
  
Morgan was sneering, weary of awaiting her turn.  
  
"As you are half mortal," Deacon said crossly. "Wait your turn, wench."  
  
I immediately grew fonder of him.  
  
Ariel, one of Morgan's young admirers, angered and challenged him.  
  
"You should not speak such ways to a lady!" he cried, his wand in hand.  
  
"She is no lady," Felix yawned.  
  
"She will be."  
  
Everyone turned and stared at the Lady of the Lake. We had all forgotten she was there, as she had never really made her presence known. She rarely speaks at council meetings. When she does, it is ever the truth. Morgan seemed suspicious but hopeful and Ariel fiercely glad. His auburn hair streaked with black and purple always stands on end as though aflame; now it made him appear taller and wilder. He lives in the woods as I do, though he has no cottage. I believe he resides on some Unplottable isle. I hope a tempest plunges his home into the sea as the waves took Atlantis.  
  
Elwin squirmed. He dislikes any kind of argument and must have thought wrongly that a part of the anger crackling in the circle was directed at him. He mumbled a withdrawal of his topic and retreated into the semidarkness. Riordan took advantage of Morgan's state of flattered shock and stepped forward. Bored, the fairies began circling his head. One of them paused in their orbit to reach out and bounce one of Riordan's poet's curls, then snap giddily back into place. Riordan ignored them or pretended to take no mind.  
  
"The war itself is a dangerous thing," he stated in his smooth voice. "Regardless of our involvement, it will affect us. We must take action to end the fighting."  
  
At last. I had been advocating this for months, yet only now was the warring deemed grave enough to be an issue. Alas, my comrades are often blind to what they do not wish to see.  
  
"One among us took action twelve years ago," the Lady said softly.  
  
Riordan blinked. "What? Who?"  
  
"Merlin."  
  
All attention turned on me, though those who doubted refused to move their eyes. I sensed surprise, confusion, disbelief, and spite. At least one person was jealous, though I know not why. I would have gladly allowed someone else to trick Igraine and bring the wrath of Morgan upon them.  
  
"Explain," Mab mused, waving her fairies to better light the Lady.  
  
"Merlin brought about the birth of the one true king. The king will rise and bring the country peace. A prosperous, golden time will shine in his rule." The Lady bowed. "This is what I know."  
  
"I see. Is there nothing we can do in the meantime?" Riordan sang.  
  
The Lady smiled. "I know not."  
  
Several fairies suddenly jerked over to Morgan. I saw her shift her wand beneath her cloak but said nothing. She strode forward, head high, and spoke before the council.  
  
"Many inept and inferior people barely capable of magic have been vexing many high witches and wizards of this council, claiming their power is of equal worth. This is, of course, foolish and must be stopped."  
  
"Hear, hear!" Janus drawled.  
  
Deacon snarled. "This is about the half-mortals, is it not?"  
  
I suddenly remembered I had meant to ask that the "mortals" be renamed. I cared little about the matter just then, fighting the urge to join Deacon and shove Morgan back in place. Clearly, she was not speaking for the whole council (of which I am a part!) when she came to scorn me yesterday. I nursed my silence and listened.  
  
"Are you not also half-mortal, Morgan le Fay?" Felix inquired lazily.  
  
Ariel shouted, "She did not ask to be!"  
  
"Her power is greater than that of many full-blooded wizards," Janus said.  
  
He meant _pure_blooded wizards. Fools. If all wizards were as obsessed with keeping our lines pure as Janus and Morgan, we would die right out. Or resort to incest. Incest is more common than I like—besides being just uncomfortable, the children seem to be quite ill. Of course, fools are more common than I like, and they seem to flourish.  
  
"Would you have us establish a caste system, Milady, to keep those nasty commoners out of your divine sight?" Deacon growled.  
  
"The simplest of barrier spells is all that is necessary," Janus sneered. "They lack the power even to get past those."  
  
"My grandmother was mortal," Felix muttered.  
  
Deacon turned to him. "And are you thwarted by childish charms? Of course not!"  
  
The arguing grew too heated even for my liking. Shouts and sneers elevated to pointed wands and threats, insults hurled at one another's kin. Even the foreign wizards, usually silent, murmured to one another in anger or distaste. I am averse to battles of any kind, be they of sharp tongues or sharp blades, and quietly departed into my own thoughts. I dwelt on the curious flower and glanced at the moon, realizing that it was past midnight and there were only three days until I could see Nimue again. I contemplated exactly how enthusiastic I was about that.  
  
Mab chuckled in my ear. I started out of my meditation, not having noticed she had moved behind me. She clapped me roughly on the shoulder.  
  
"Why, Merlin!" she laughed loudly. "You are positively smitten!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I had wondered why you neglected to speak during the debate, and found the answer in your distant and wistful expression. You, my friend, are thinking of a lady."  
  
Curse that women's extra sense. The council had stopped arguing and was actually staring at me in various levels of amusement. I did not show my embarrassment, though my beard and the dim light would have covered it for me. I coughed and declared the noble Elder must be mistaken. Several members of the council snickered at this. Obviously, they had not deduced that the mysterious lady they were chortling about was the same woman they denied membership. I found this terribly amusing and joined in their laughter. Soon I was the only one laughing.  
  
"Ladies can indeed steal one's attentions. They are the sweetest of thieves." I glanced at Ariel and Morgan. "Yet we must beware these fair ones, for they may use stolen hearts." I thumbed the brim of my hat. "Good eve to you all, or should I say good morrow? I must away."  
  
I was not aware of my follower as I strode lightly from the stone circle. I was not aware when she left, turning to find her gone. I only heard her voice fleetingly, as though it were an echo of a thought.  
  
"Heed your own words, Merlin," the Lady whispered.  
  
I thought on this troubling advice on the trek home, and fell asleep still pondering it.  
  
**Midday:**  
  
Though it may seem otherwise, I do not think of Nimue, my Mysterious Lady, romantically. Rather, I am intrigued by what I do not know, and I know so little of her. Because she has closed her mind to me, I cannot pry and find out. I must actually converse with her, which is rather tedious as her beauty is admittedly distracting. Not as foolishly distracting as the green velvet dress, however. Ariel can only be excused on the ground that he is young and male.  
  
I am not smitten. Though...I am interested. And occasionally obsessed. Unsettlingly, constantly thinking about someone is the first sign of being smitten.  
  
What? How do I know this? Why would you ask such a ridiculous question?  
  
You can't think that—now, really! If that were the case, some other mad king would have tried to sacrifice me. I did have a life when I was young. I WAS young once! Ah, what larks I had. In fact, I have had not one romantic experience, but many.  
  
No, they were not with female merlins. You ass.  
  
...parchment.  
  
I swear on every whisker in my beard that if Archimedes laughs again, I'll turn him into a newt. 


	6. Merlin, the Smitten Cottage Dwelling Bat

**Author's Notes: **Though Merlin is quite funny in isolation when he argues alternately with Archimedes and his parchment, I rather like it when he speaks to things that can speak back. Especially when those things foreshadow for me. _(huggles the Pollux)_ If anyone can tell me where I got the name Pollux _and _point out the two ironies about it in the centaur scene, they get a cookie! It's obvious that I got "Magnificent, Marvelous" from the animated version of "The Sword in the Stone" and "The White Wizard" from Lord of the Rings. Right. I'll stop rambling now. Sorry. I'm just in the Merlin mindset. He's very odd on caffeine. And don't worry if you don't like Pollux (ARE YOU CRAZY?), because Arthur and Nimue are both in the next chapter. YAY! Thanks again for the reviews!   
  
**Night:**  
  
I went to bed early and what for? For more vexing dreams. For nearly distinguishing the face of my illuminated betrayer, for nearly crying out their name. I had barely closed my eyes when the nightmare struck. It ended before the foul figure could raise its arm, yet I awoke entangled in blankets as though possessed of fever. It is not very late at all now, but I dare not return to sleep.  
  
**Midnight:**  
  
I sat up with a dozen candles burning and fixed all that Morgan had broken to occupy myself. I proceeded to drowsily watch sand seep through my largest hourglass, leaning my head on one hand. My eyes unfocused and dreams tugged at my mind. My head sagged against my arm. The form of light materialized and I jolted awake.  
  
Archimedes returned from his hunt with several messages. Alertness and curiosity took me together as I broke the wax seals and read.  
  
I have finished the first three letters and I am not impressed. It seems the council has only now realized my importance. Only when I say nothing at the meeting do they miss my words. No one appreciates anything until it is gone. I do feel badly about deserting Elwin, however. He did not accuse me, but merely asked if I was well and if I had been right to attend the meeting if I could not fully devote my attentions to it. Guilt clawed my stomach. He thought I was ill. He believes sickness alone could foil our alliance. The second letter merely demanded wryly who my Mysterious Lady was (I tossed it into the fire), and the third was from Janus, who smugly thanked me for keeping my "unattractive nose out of business." Idiot.  
  
Two days...  
  
**Early Morning:**  
  
Four more letters for the fire: more sarcastic gloating from Morgan, a notice from Mab about the next council meeting, and an accusing message from Deacon demanding why I had "failed" him. I have only answered Elwin's note. The rest will cover the floor beneath Archimedes' perch.  
  
One left.  
  
Ah. Riordan.  
  
Hmm...  
  
He tells me I am wise to speak little, yet I should voice my wisdom...the council needs me...I might be able to unite our torn assembly...he has faith in me and in Arthur.  
  
Riordan. I should have trusted him to be the voice of truth. Words dance into place beneath his quill. His eloquence is wasted on the council.  
  
Yes. Very well. I shall keep this message on my desk. The rest I condemn to the floor!  
  
**Dawn:**  
  
The sunrise this morning was glorious. The Master Artist painted the sky orange and scarlet and purple on a canvas of gold, dipping His thumb into the blue of the sea to streak the edges with streams of cyan. These rivulets melted into the violet, creating swirls of wispy royal silk, curtains framing the gleaming copper sun. It was a window to heaven.  
  
An arrow broke that window, sailing through my earthly open door and burying itself in the far wall. I started from my romantic reverie, swiftly closed the door, and crossed to the arrow. Unnerved, I examined the sleek shaft and saw that a thin vine held a message to it. I recognized the work immediately.  
  
"Ah," I sighed, relieved. "Centaurs."  
  
Centaurs do not usually scribe anything, passing knowledge down orally. However, I knew that a few had deigned learn how to communicate with wizards through writing. They much prefer it to speaking with us in person. They really don't care to speak to us at all anymore, Elwin and myself being the exceptions.  
  
The message told me, in precise lettering, to meet Pollux by the great oak marking the unspoken boundary between my young woods and the centaurs' ancient forest. It was he who had sent the message. One of the younger, more open-minded centaurs, he shares with me an understanding—as close to a friendship as his people will allow. I am fond of his intuitive wisdom and had missed meeting him on the edge of the forest and pausing to talk.  
  
I wonder what matter he considers important enough to leave the safety of his herd? I shall soon find out—I'm to come to the oak tree tonight.  
  
**Mid-Morning:**  
  
It is a shame indeed that Arthur has not learned of the concept of karma.  
  
Archimedes did not approve of the layer of paper littering the floor beneath his perch. I daresay he deemed it rather unsightly. He huffed disdainfully and scanned the cottage for a more regal perch. He spied the arrow still stuck fast in the wall and, assuming it embedded a safe depth, attempted to land upon it.  
  
Obviously, he has not taken in a word I've said about the laws of nature. There was no way the slender shaft of the arrow could possibly support his weight. Of course the arrow snapped, sending a startled Archimedes fluttering awkwardly to the ground. Bewildered, he sat on the floor for a full minute, his eyes, if possible, growing larger than usual. He managed to regain his dignity and swooped back to his proper perch, where he began preening as though the arrow incident had never happened.  
  
I was most amused. At last, I have something to laugh at _him _about! I can save this and brandish it whenever he dares roll his eyes at me again.  
  
Ah, but I'm weary. NO! I will not sleep. I have all the energy I need.  
  
My pillow looks lonesome...  
  
I think I'll have some tea. Very strong tea. The kind that keeps one awake for hours.  
  
Because I feel like it. I crave its...bitter flavor. Not that I need to jar myself to alertness. Of course not.  
**  
A Short While Later:**  
  
PReHpas I hAd tooOoOOoo mCuh tAe...  
**  
Midday:**  
  
I think the shaking is out of my system. My hand is now steady enough to write.  
  
This has nothing to do with the tAe. oF cuRose n0t.  
  
I've been amusing myself by watching Archimedes defecate on the letters, but I'm beginning to notice something.  
  
Everyone has titles.  
  
Asher the Addled, Felix the Flighty, Deacon the Driven. Astrid the Arcane. Riordan the Poet, Elwin the Kind, Mab the Just (I like "Magnificent, Marvelous Mab" better). They don't sign their letters using their titles, but when they mention one another, they always include them as a formality.  
  
But I am always Merlin.  
  
Why is that? Why can't I have a title? Something mysterious and noble, like "The White Wizard." –Except my clothing is usually brown or blue and my beard is more silver. Hmm.  
  
I fear I shall go down in history simply as "Merlin." Just Merlin. Oh, huzzah.  
**  
Moments Later:**  
  
I doubt anyone will remember even my titleless name.  
  
**Moments Later:**  
  
Or if they do, I will end up being called something like "Merlin the Mad" or "Merlin, Corrupter of England's Youth" or "Merlin, That Fellow Who Bred Owls."  
  
**Moments Later:**  
  
"Merlin the Smitten by a Mysterious Lady."  
**  
Moments Later:**  
  
"Merlin the Cottage-Dwelling Old Bat." Yes, I could see Morgan encouraging that kind of title.  
  
That's rather depressing. I must resume my studies to take my mind off of it.  
  
Yes, I still have studies. Spherical models of Earth do not build themselves.  
  
**Moments Later:**  
  
Well, actually, they do, but only after I charm them to do so. Which I will do now.  
**  
Evening:**  
  
See? I've been hard at work this whole time.  
  
...parchment.  
  
I really must charm you, as well, so your replies will not merely be in my head. I'll do so right now.  
  
**A Time Later:**  
  
No use. Charmed, you can only repeat everything I write as a question or shout insults like some incensed Jarvey. You shall have to remain inanimate and without sentience. I look forward to conversing with an intelligent mind tonight.  
**  
Following Morning, Mid-Morning:**  
  
Humans are such strange creatures. I am beginning to grow ashamed to be called one.  
  
I arrived at the old oak tree and found it gilded with silver moonlight. No, gilded is not the proper word. Moonbeams painted the leaves, sprayed each beam, tumbled down the trunk like water falling from the river Lethe. Lines in the bark shone like those in a weathered face. Something so beautiful, so ancient, should be honored, but it was its own tribute to decades, possibly centuries, of endurance. The awe-inspiring monolith rose from amid smaller, lesser plants that all seemed to bow to its might and shelter beneath its protective boughs.  
  
Pollux had moved silently beside me in that undetectable manner of centaurs. I do not know how long he watched me gaze at the noble tree, for I know not how long I gazed.  
  
"Your reverence for nature is lost in most humans," he said.  
  
I turned, mildly surprised to see him there. His eyes, warm yet distant spheres of dark brown, were fixed thoughtfully on my face.  
  
"I wish it were not so," I sighed.  
  
He nodded, sending a black curl sweeping across his swarthy forehead. I wondered briefly weather Morgan would loose her seductress's nerve in the presence of a "half-human" more attractive than she. Moonlight shone on the sleek black of Pollux's equine half. I pondered whether Morgan would be stricken with rage or ardor.  
  
I quelled my thoughts and returned the deep nod respectfully. I would have bowed, but that may have appeared sarcastic or an insulting allusion to the treatment of hippogriffs.  
  
"How fares your brother?" I asked.  
  
"Dead," he said softly. "Shot by humans blaming their turmoil on supposed black magic of our kind."  
  
I bowed my head. "I am sorry,"  
  
"It is a bitter irony that he was killed by a human's crude arrow—he, our most skilled archer."  
  
He did not seem to wish to speak of his loss any longer. He would now move on to the reason he sent the message. I waited. Centaurs are not very direct; to inquire why he had asked me there would have been rude. Pollux looked back at the oak tree before speaking.  
  
"Venus is brighter from your side of this tree."  
  
I was confused. No word of Mars, of the war that had driven the centaurs into the depths of their forest? I said nothing, puzzled.  
  
Pollux turned back to me. "Are you troubled by dreams of betrayal?"  
  
I started. Had he really learned this in the stars? He could not have spoken with the Lady, for she lives too near the human kingdom.  
  
"Yes," I replied.  
  
"So I feared," he sighed.  
  
"The Lady of the Lake says I will be betrayed by someone very dear," I stated uncomfortably.  
  
"So you will." He looked on me with the Lady's same sympathy. "Do you know how dear?"  
  
I shook my head.  
  
He stared again at the tree as though its glorious sight would assuage the regret he now displayed.  
  
"How dear?" I asked.  
  
He pointed at Venus, which indeed appeared very bright. Mars too glowed threateningly. Pollux sighed as he lowered his arm sadly.  
  
"You love her."  
  
I said nothing. He turned to go and touched my arm in the reassuring manner of friends. I was too mystified to realize what a serious compliment this was. Pollux seemed to understand and told me he would give Ixion my regards.  
  
"Please try to sleep despite her phantom," he added gently.  
  
He nodded once more and walked off into the dark forest. I blinked after him. I turned and gazed at the tree again, but its beauty somehow haunted me. I looked instead at the sky, intending to locate the constellation Gemini, but found myself staring at Venus. It shone like some bright and alluring eye.  
  
I went home and did not hesitate at my bedside, regarding my pillow with mixed desire and dread. I fell immediately upon the blankets without a thought. A mercifully dreamless sleep took me instantly. I awoke refreshed yet dazed.  
  
Curious.  
  
He did not say, "You loved her," or "You will love her." He said, "You love her."  
  
I do not love her. She lacks the proper sense of humour and a love of nature and of animals. She is too delicate to take on walks through the woods. Archimedes doesn't like her. Her airy nature is rather ominous. I know nothing about her home, her family. I know so little about her.  
  
She comes tomorrow.  
  
I will not bother to clean my cottage or even to remove the letters from beneath Archimedes' perch. I should not have to please her. I will conveniently forget where I place my comb. I will ask suspiciously what was wrong with that flower.  
  
I will make similar humourless, sarcastic remarks to her as I did Morgan. Though Nimue was born that lovely...  
  
Pollux never said it was her, anyway. And since I do not love her, he clearly meant someone else.  
  
Ah! I've an idea for Arthur's lesson today. 


	7. Hawks and Axes and Flowers

**Author's Notes:** I don't know what I'd do without my reviewers. Probably never finish this story. I've had plenty of time to work on it, but when school starts I may not update as frequently--but I shall never abandon it! This next chapter was two days in writing. I'm quite fond of it, though I did tend to get off on detail and dialogue and subplots. I hope I managed to keep the story moving. The first half is about Arthur and includes many details from legend and from various versions of the Camelot story. Also, Merlin's values are like those of all four Hogwarts Founders, with the addition of a reverence for nature. The second half started when Kitty said she wanted more of Riordan. I sat down and tried to think up a history for him only to have the poet tell me everything. He wrote himself (literally, I suspect) and his part in the story fell immediately into place. Pay attention and you may notice more sketchy foreshadowing.While Nimue is more likable in this chapter, rather like Hermione after the troll incident, there is something foul going on in Kane's fortress.   
  
**Night:**  
  
That boy...  
  
How could Camelot possibly fall under him?  
  
He arrived dutifully an hour after noon, though he had not enjoyed our last lesson. He wore a finer tunic than usual, though it was a bit big on him, and his hair had been cut. I raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Been made a page, have we?" I smirked.  
  
"No, sir," Arthur drew himself up to his full growing height. "I'm a squire."  
  
I shrugged. "Good practice, I suppose—what with you having your own order of knights and all."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Today's lesson," I began. "Shall take place outdoors."  
  
Arthur brightened. "Then we're not just sitting inside?"  
  
"No. Only Archimedes is to remain at the cottage. Someone must take all my messages, you know."  
  
"I see," Arthur muttered (the way he always does when he has no idea what I mean).  
  
"Come along," I instructed.  
  
I walked off in the direction of the gorge, Arthur scurrying in my wake. I hope being a squire, however briefly, will correct his posture and gait. He does not currently cut a very commanding figure.  
  
"What are we doing for today's lesson, Merlin?" he asked, stumbling a bit over a log.  
  
"I am going to teach you values I deem imperative," I replied, surreptitiously moving a stump out of his way with a spell.  
  
"Imperative?"  
  
"Very important," I said.  
  
"Oh," Arthur scampered over the place where the stump had been. "What values do you think are imperative?"  
  
"A love and understanding of nature, loyalty, intelligence, ambition, and bravery. Kindness and acceptance come naturally to you, so I needn't teach those. I also value sly wit, but you're too straightforward and honest for that."  
  
"Er, thank you?"  
  
"Ah," I beamed. "We're here."  
  
We stood on the edge of the gorge. Bold trees teetered on shelves of rock that descended to an uneven plain far below. Sunlight buffeted the stone until heat rose in invisible columns up through the middle of the miniature canyon. Both sides were too steep to climb unaided, and Arthur stood a safe distance back for fear of loosing his footing and sliding painfully down.  
  
"Tell me, does the man you serve hunt?" I asked.  
  
"Yes," Arthur frowned. "Of course."  
  
"Not merely for food. Does he enjoy trophy hunting? Killing for the sport of it?"  
  
Arthur saw where I was heading. "He is a good man! Only he—he thinks it's fun."  
  
"He shoots birds out of the sky," I said tersely. "He does not appreciate the wonder of flight."  
  
It was then that I began to weave a spell. As with the stump in the forest, Arthur did not notice. Preparing the spell silently was a bit trying, as I had to use thought in place of incantation. It took a while to ready my spell, but Arthur had launched into a speech defending his master. Perhaps I didn't have to teach him loyalty, either.  
  
"And I just I don't think you should be speaking about him that way," Arthur was saying.  
  
"And I don't think you should be speaking at all," I smiled. "Learn by living."  
  
Arthur opened his mouth to respond but was quite suddenly turned into a hawk. He blinked bemusedly and glanced down at his feathers. His head snapped back upright so he could glare at me, but glaring introduced him to a hawk's amazing vision. He jerked his little hawk's head about, staring in all directions, amazed by his keen eyesight. I grinned, reminded of the first time I successfully turned into a merlin.  
  
"Now you may learn the wonder of flight hands-on—er, talons-on," I told him. "Fly up to the lowest branch of that tree just over there, please."  
  
Excited, Arthur spread his wings and attempted to take off. It was not as funny as when Archimedes fell yesterday, for Arthur really had no idea what he was doing, but it was endearingly comical. He flapped vainly on the ground for a time before he at last managed to flutter up to the branch. He glanced aside, embarrassed.  
  
"Not bad for a first try," I chuckled, crossing to the tree (he was perched at my eye level).  
  
He hid his head beneath his wing.  
  
I laughed. "Come now! It's harder than it appears. It took me days to perfect."  
  
He remerged, blinking at me curiously. I winked and changed into a merlin. I have done this countless times, but seeing Arthur's shock returned some of the old fun to it. I neatly joined him on the branch and winked again. I am beginning to believe only magical birds can wink.  
  
After a session of demonstration and a bit of trial and error, Arthur was ready to fly out to the middle of the gorge. He had only been at it a few minutes, but he soared quite naturally. He seemed to be enjoying himself as he practiced changing direction when he unknowingly came upon one of the warm updrafts. He was startled at first, but soon realized the thermal's potential. He rode it ever higher. I circled a ways lower, remembering the rush of seeing what seemed like the whole world in miniature below you.  
  
I executed a loop that said _Isn't this fun?_ He replied with an experimental cry of joy.  
  
Arthur sounded so like a real hawk just then that Icarus appeared, wondering whom this new intruder in his territory could be. I wheeled and came between them, conveying to Icarus that this hawk was my friend. Icarus thought at first I had befriended another wild bird, and was hurt until I made him realize that the hawk was actually another transformed human. Icarus dipped respectfully in the air, complimenting Arthur's natural flying ability. Arthur actually understood, returning the motion.  
  
Soon after Icarus departed, I knew the spell was nearing its end. I signaled Arthur to follow me and swept into a dive.  
  
No horse dead or living can match a diving bird of prey for speed. Arthur soon found this out and raced to beat me back to the tree. Noticing this, I tucked in my legs for better aerodynamics and won easily. After we had both landed, I ended the spell, returning us back to our natural forms. Arthur sat on the branch, swinging his legs excitedly.  
  
"Do you now appreciate the wonder of flight?" I asked, lowering myself to the ground.  
  
"Oh, yes!" Arthur gushed. "That was amazing! It was so free and exhilarating and fun and I kept thinking I was going to crash but I didn't care I wanted to push myself and I went so high I could see that castle you told me about with the king and the two dragons and when we were diving we were going so fast and you beat me even though you're old!"  
  
I chuckled. "I am experienced. –Did you learn an appreciation for free and wild things?"  
  
He nodded fervently. "Oh, yes!"  
  
"You may squire faithfully now, but when you are ki—a knight yourself, remember this day and why you should not destroy living things needlessly."  
  
He nodded again and paused. "What about trees?"  
  
"What about them?"  
  
"I don't want to cut them down, but I must to get wood and material for making things. I much prefer climbing trees to killing them."  
  
I looked pensively at him, surprised by how well he'd learned. "Sometimes it is necessary to kill. Everything must die. Often, things die for a purpose. Plants die when animals eat them or when we use them, animals die when they kill one another to survive or when we kill them."  
  
"And we die when we kill each other in wars," Arthur said quietly.  
  
I sighed. "Some men believe they die in wars for a purpose."  
  
"I wish they didn't."  
  
"So do I."  
  
Arthur's legs had stopped swinging over the branch. He hugged the trunk of the tree, staring out over the ravine at the retreating sun. He looked older.  
  
"What about you, Merlin?" he asked at last. "What do you think is worth dying for?"  
  
"Only one thing is worth dying for, my boy, and that's love."  
  
"I see," Arthur muttered, and I think he did.  
  
We were silent on the walk back. It was a calm evening, so I opted to take the long way by walking Arthur to the road he used to get home. Because of this, the subject of love came up again sooner than I expected.  
  
A young pair of lovers was also enjoying the evening, strolling dreamily along the road ahead of us, fingers entwined. We soon passed them, our own leisurely pace being swifter than theirs. I thought little of them until we had moved out of hearing distance and Arthur asked me about them.  
  
"How does he get her to love him like that?" he queried.  
  
"Now that's an interesting question," I said evenly. "What do you think?"  
  
Arthur frowned. "I don't like it when you try to teach me by asking me questions. Why not simply tell me?"  
  
"It's the Socratic teaching method, thank you, and it gets you in the habit of figuring things out yourself and using your head instead of waiting for someone to tell you what to think. You'll thank me when you can rule strongly apart from your advisors."  
  
"Does he flatter her?" Arthur mused. "Did he begin by threatening her? Did he persuade her through sweet words? Did he plead with her?"  
  
"That," I smiled. "Is nonsense."  
  
Arthur sighed, exasperated. "Then what do you do?"  
  
"Love her."  
  
"Yes, but how do you--?"  
  
"That's it. Simply love her."  
  
"That's it?"  
  
"Yes. Merely love her."  
  
"But...if you are trying to win her affections, do you not already love her?"  
  
"Some men forget that in the wooing process."  
  
He still was not convinced. "Surely loving her is not enough?"  
  
"It is. Many women do not get enough love, and there begins the strife."  
  
He regarded me curiously as though I had turned into a bird again. "How do you know all this?"  
  
"That," I sniffed. "Is my business alone. One should not doubt the wisdom of an old man."  
  
"Very well," he smirked.  
  
I sent him off and shook my head. He needn't worry about love yet. And when he does find his queen, she will be lucky to have him. I only hope she is deserving of his love.  
  
Today was a most philosophical day. Socrates would be proud.  
**  
Dawn:**  
  
I rose early in case Nimue, like certain other witches who enjoy tormenting me, came early. I did not wish to be awakened so rudely again.  
  
Archimedes conveniently forgot to tell me last night that I received a message while I was out. I really should have turned him into a newt for his ineptitude, but the letter was too disquieting.  
  
_"Merlin— Your poet friend was loath to tell me whom I might contact about his recent confinement, but after several hours of persuasion he mentioned your name. Ah. I will not foul these words—it would do him ill tribute. He _gasped_your name. Strange how his voice yet rings sweetly as he whimpers.  
  
"I write to inform you that the bard Riordan can no longer meet with his fellow sorcerers as he has failed in his part of an agreement with me and is obligated to remain in my custody. My own axe has cleaved the evil talisman of his power. I am certain that you will be able to continue your unholy witchcraft without him, and I trust you to inform the other conjurers of this minor loss.  
  
--Lord Kane of the Axe"_  
  
Damn him. Damn him and his ransom and his wand-smiting axe and his title! May Cerberus gnaw upon his entrails!  
  
Kane is known for his ruthlessness. He is the quintessential feudal warlord. I'd no idea Riordan had been in his service. Of course that is where our dear poet had been getting all of his information on the war.  
  
Riordan is hardly an aggressive man. What will he do without his wand?  
  
Nimue must wait. I've far more urgent missions to—  
  
Curse my luck! She is here.  
**  
Mid-Morning, In Midair:**  
  
Insufferable woman.  
  
She refused to leave until I told her exactly why I was canceling our plans. Then, upon hearing of Riordan's plight, she insisted on joining me on my little rescue mission. Of course, I refused to allow her to accompany me, but she really is even more stubborn than I am.  
  
She is not an Animagus. She cannot turn into a merlin and travel great distances swiftly. I had to get out the flying carpet I had obtained in the East. It is not nearly as fast as soaring in bird form, and though it has ample room for three passengers, Nimue claims to be afraid of heights and has inched unnecessarily near.  
  
She cannot read over my shoulder, however. I have charmed this page. To her, it appears to be a map that I meticulously scrawl upon.  
  
Why did I bring this parchment in the first place? I need no excuse to avoid conversation.  
  
Truly.  
  
**Evening:**  
  
I have a new respect and appreciation for poets and bards of every kind.  
  
Kane resides in the kind of castle I abhor: a fortress of cold stone and steel. There are no windows, only slots through which archers may fire. Arrows are the only fire this grim and glooming place sees. Even the tower where we landed was frigid like some abandoned grave.  
  
A lovely first place for Nimue and me to journey to together.  
  
I shrank the carpet to the size of a kerchief and pocketed it. We stole silently down the narrow tower stair and conferred in a dark and lifeless corridor.  
  
"Which way do we go from here?" Nimue asked, quite nonchalant for one on a dangerous mission.  
  
"I, er, I don't currently know," I confessed.  
  
"What?" Nimue cried as loudly as she dared. "How could you set off to rescue someone when you don't know where he is being held?"  
  
"He's in this castle, I know that," I said crossly.  
  
"You can't possibly find him on your own," she sighed.  
  
I raised an eyebrow. "You think so? In the time it took for this discussion, I have figured the first two turns we should make down the hall."  
  
"What? How?"  
  
"I do not have time to teach you now, woman! I told you the lesson was cancelled." I tugged impatiently on her arm. "Come!"  
  
"Would it not be wiser to separate?"  
  
"But I know the way!"  
  
"I mean," Nimue said patiently. "You can go free your friend, and I can make sure no one stops you."  
  
"Oh. Very well."  
  
We parted without another word. I pushed Nimue from my mind and stalked down the corridors like a dog after a scent trail. The occasional guard got in my way, but I was so intent they tended to...fall senseless to the ground as I passed. A few of them already nursed magical injuries; it seemed Riordan had been slightly more aggressive than I'd imagined. After a time I stopped running into any guards, though I might have seen the end of a retreating cape around a few corners.  
  
As time passed, my urgent search became a focused fury. I strode, seething, through the halls and descended to the belly of the castle like a righteous messenger storming through Hell. I came to the firmly locked door I sought and saw the thick wood hinged with hunks of iron. I needn't have shouted "_Alohomora_;" the ebony thicker than my arm shattered beneath my glare.  
  
Riordan looked up, stunned. A thin line of dried blood trailed down his face. It began at his hairline, crusting his foremost auburn curl a purplish brown, traced his brow, continued from his temple down his jawbone and tapered off near the corner of his mouth, now open in surprise. He attempted to rise from where he sat against the far wall, but winced and slid back down. He contented himself in fixing his green eyes upon me.  
  
"Merlin?"  
  
"Of course," I smiled slightly. "Who else would be mad enough to come for you?"  
  
He wearily returned the smile. "Who else would be so kind?"  
  
I crossed the small room and touched him lightly on the head with the tip of my wand. The trail of old blood vanished along with most of his pain. He exhaled, relieved, and allowed me to help him to his feet.  
  
"You are strong for an old man," he chuckled.  
  
"What, my arm or my magic?"  
  
"Both."  
  
I smirked and shook my head. "Foolish youth. You've more strength in your smallest toe than I have in my arm. Was it this same senselessness that began your struggle with Kane?"  
  
"Lord Kane and I had an accord," he sighed. "As long as I acted as his bard, he would not turn on me for being a wizard."  
  
I snorted. "Yes. He does not hide his loathing of our kind."  
  
"Kane loves power more than he hates magic, however. He loved displaying his greatness in showing guests that his wealth was such that he had his own bard. He loved hearing tales of war and conquest. The warriors wanted similar entertainment—surely they have memorized the catalog of the Trojan War by now. None among them appreciated the beauty of poetry, the art of rhyme."  
  
"You made such sacrifices for the council," I murmured.  
  
"I did find happiness," Riordan smiled. "The servants understood the songs and stories of adventure for the sake of adventure, laughter for the sake of laughter, and...love for the sake of love." His smile grew sad. "Though Marina spends each day washing and sweeping, she knows more about love than any high lady. She came to me often with requests for myths of love, sitting attentively for hours, enthralled by each word I gladly spoke.  
  
"I became one of the tragic lovers in the stories I told. I lived to brighten Marina's banal life, drew breath only to delight her with more stories. Every love song was for her. I never imagined the enamored state I had so often described could be so painfully glorious."  
  
"Painful?" I frowned.  
  
Riordan was no longer smiling. "My affections were unrequited. She was merely in love with the idea of love—the songs and stories struck no knowing chord in her. Devastated like some doomed hero in one of my foolishly sentimental myths, I began avoiding her to heal. Seeing her in the halls reopened the wound of my futile love. I languished, unable to walk near her or recite a single verse on love. Though I have not seen her in days, she is ever in my thoughts. Love does not die when it is ignored. All joy abandoned me, my will to carry on withered, and gladness fled. She so filled my heart that there was no place for song there anymore. I soon lost the power to tell any tale or hum any tune. When Kane called for me to relate the death of Hector before his men, I could not..."  
  
He stopped, unwilling or unable to continue. I lead him gently to the door.  
  
"Let us away," I said. "There is no longer any happiness for you here."  
  
He nodded and went with me out through the hall. We traversed corridors without incident until that dratted captain appeared.  
  
We rounded a turn and faced a line of nervous guards headed by a proud-looking man.  
  
"I had reports of a great and terrible sorcerer flying down the halls, his head wreathed in white flame and his blazing eyes too fearsome to behold." he sneered. "Yet here I find a bent old man and a broken bard."  
  
"Your conceptions of wizards are ill-conceived," I smiled amiably. "Even bent old men and broken bards can possess great and terrible power."  
  
"You two are full of naught but words," the captain growled.  
  
"Would you have us fight, sir?" I asked.  
  
"'Twould hardly be a fight, old one. The pair of you would be dead in moments."  
  
"Really?" I inquired, feigning surprise. "You too can kill without touching someone?"  
  
He paled but maintained his bravado. "You have not the power!"  
  
"I have, sir. However, you are correct that you will not die by my hands." Some white fire ignited in my eye. "It is not that I cannot kill you—I will not."  
  
"Either way, I am the victor!" he cried unevenly.  
  
I countered before he could lead the charge further than half a step.  
  
_"STUPEFY!"_  
  
The swarm of guards fell in an untidy heap. I wrinkled my large nose theatrically at the human mess and parted the pile with a twitch of my fingers. Riordan laughed as we passed unscathed.  
  
"Your hexes are quite powerful," he commented.  
  
I shrugged. "I was angry. They tend to intensify when I am angry."  
  
We were almost to the tower when we passed a large hall. Enraged voices filtered through the closed doors.  
  
"...thought we had...guards will be...never said..."  
  
"...foolish...truly believe...have lost..."  
  
"...foul trickery..." the voice rose. "I'LL KILL YOU!"  
  
Nimue's voice screamed back. "NOT IF I SILENCE YOU FIRST, SCUM!"  
  
Kane shouted, but he was down when I had burst through the door. Nimue stood across from him, her wand aimed at his heart. A purple gash streaked across his chest. While a formidable and dangerous curse, it is not fatal. Nimue glared once more at the prone figure of a once-powerful lord and swept over to me.  
  
"Let us hasten from this place. I revile the very air."  
  
We three journeyed back to my cottage, as it is nearest. Icarus sensed unrest and came to glide next to our carpet. I instructed him to go to Archimedes and send him for Elwin, who would be able to shelter Riordan until the poet had fully recovered. When we arrived at my home, it was done and Elwin was waiting. He lives near enough to Apparate at the edge of the forest and walk to my cottage. I nearly regretted placing such a powerful ward over these woods, but remembered the centaurs and their need for isolation.  
  
I saw Riordan and Elwin safely off. The poet thanked me and began speaking of being in my debt or some similar nonsense until I waved the matter away. Archimedes returned looking pleased with himself, and I ended up giving him the dead rat I had denied him earlier. It was not until my friends had departed and Archimedes was occupied with his meal that Nimue spoke again.  
  
"You are the wisest, bravest, most foolish man I have ever known," she said, the breathiness in her voice replaced by an equally lyrical clarity.  
  
"Thank you," I replied. "You are the most determined, most daring, and most fascinating woman I have ever known. And your hexes are to be reckoned with."  
  
She smiled—a genuine, appreciative smile. "I still know so little. I could learn much more from you. You've depths of power none can fathom."  
  
"You have your own hidden talents,"  
  
"Will you still teach me to unearth more?"  
  
I paused this time. She seems to be so capable already. She can easily function and flourish in the world without learning further magic.  
  
But her gaze today was earnest, lacking any motive but a need to know.  
  
"Yes." I agreed.  
  
"Thank you!" she cried, a trace of that girlish excitement I had glimpsed returning. "You are too kind!"  
  
"One can never be too kind, my dear Nimue,"  
  
She checked her glee. "Oh. I meant, it is very kind of you, and you are always so caring, more so than most."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"You did not have to go after Riordan today," she said seriously. "You could have sent word to Mab, or waited to bring it up at the next council meeting, or just left him there, imprisoned and sorrowing and alone. You remind me how much selfless kindness is in the world."  
  
I reddened for what, I am proud to say, was the first time all day.  
  
"You're too kind," I muttered.  
  
"Oh!" Nimue plunged a hand down her sleeve and retrieved a familiar bottle. "Your owl left this on my windowsill. Does he often make off with trinkets of yours?"  
  
I stared at the flower, bemused. "Not often. He knew this one was a gift. I cannot imagine why..."  
  
Archimedes made a choking sound inside. I resolved to turn him into a newt the first chance I had.  
  
"I now return it." Nimue handed the bottled flower to me and smiled. "Keep it out of his reach and in your sight, and think of me."  
  
She turned and strode off. I stared after her.  
  
Perilous missions and encounters demonstrating one's power is bring out more of a person's true nature. Nimue is not a breathy, alluring little apparition but a strong and impressive individual.  
  
I like her all the more for it. 


	8. I'll Not Ask Again

**Author's Notes: **Sorry it's been so long! Advanced classes and homework and band and choir and private lessons have stolen away most of my computer time. If this chapter seems weak, it's because _I_ am. Yay sleep deprivation! I snuck in a reference to band, since it's one of the main things eating my time. Gotta love band, though. The sonnet song is something I wrote when I was learning about iambic pentameter in Advanced American Literature. It helped me remember that blasted meter, even if I don't like some of the rhymes I used. I also included several allusions to the musical _Camelot_, which I saw a few weeks ago. I was a bit disappointed that they cut the best verses of "Fie on Goodness," but their Mordred was so great it didn't really matter. His outfit, ironically, was green and silver. The guy who played Merlin (who also played Pellinore) was brilliant.  
  
A thousand thanks to my beloved readers, old and new. And a huge MEEP! to She's a Star for actually mentioning this fic, and so nicely. I mean--GAH! I nearly hyperventilated. I was writhing in my computer chair thinking "I am not worthy of such praise!"  
  
And this chapter certainly isn't worthy. I suppose I had to have boring transition somewhere. Seriously. Nothing really happens here, except I fit in as much foreshadowing as possible before swearing it off...for now. Here you go, and don't be too disappointed!

**Night: **

As the flower I cannot seem to escape opened in the darkness, I performed a series of tests upon it to see what enchantment gave it its eerie power.

I found only one spell: the one that makes it bloom.

How can this be?

Surely the flower did not cause me to behave so oddly on its own? Nimue must have removed all her charms before returning it, the crafty woman.

Yet my eyes are drawn to it more frequently than before.

The white petals are pointed, growing in layers of five. It so resembles a star...

Or a planet.

Venus is still bright in the night sky.

You think I failed to notice, didn't you?

(Yes, I have at least resigned myself to the fact that I carry on unhealthy conversations with the flattened and prepared remains of a tree. But I have reason—I am eccentric, after all. I'll no longer fret about trying to get this wretched parchment to reply.)

You really believe I did not see it? It's quite obvious: Nimue will be the end of me.

How could you think that this could escape me—me, Merlin, the greatest wizard of our time?

(Archimedes pretended to fall asleep after I came in, and now he must continue the charade and is so denied any eye-rolling or amused hooting).

After a time with Nimue, I shall lose all my powers, this I know.

The Lady told me. Pollux told me. The stars themselves tell me. Nimue will bring me great joy but great ruin. I have known this since I first met her. I'll know it when I last see her.

I have seen it, in part. Living my life nearly backwards has granted me many glimpses of the future—my past. I know that the Lady's prophecy is true: Arthur will become a great king in a time of peace. I know that I will not see Arthur wed, which suits me fine, as I still don't think his queen will be worthy of him. I know that Arthur and I will be betrayed.

It is difficult to explain how one goes about living in reverse. You can see here that I do not literally live backwards. But I spend so much time looking to the future through different magical means that often it's as though I've lived there already. I have adopted many quotes, sayings, and philosophies from people that will not exist for centuries.

I suppose this adds to my eccentricity. Deacon once accused me of senility, and I responded, "It can't be senility...I've outgrown that."

Tomorrow, I shall look back at what is to come again, perhaps with the Lady's aid, to learn more of the more foreboding elements of Camelot's future.

**Following Morning:**

I really do think musicians are more insane than I am. Who in their right minds would put themselves through such torture?

I arrived at the Lake and found I was not the only visitor today. Elwin and Riordan were there, sitting with the Lady as I do so often at the lakeside. Ever-amiable Elwin rose to greet me, but Riordan did not stand. His injuries are not what ailed him (I healed him myself), so it must have been strife of the heart. After returning Elwin's warmth and mentally reminding myself to get on with that robe business, I addressed the bard.

"Surely not all the music has fled your soul?" I asked, smiling.

Riordan sighed. "No, I cannot escape it—I was born a musician. What I lack is the will to sing or play."

I would fix that.

"Which do you find easier?" I asked.

"Playing," he frowned. "But why--?"

I produced a lyre. "I'll not have your skills wane. Practice something, at least. I'll gladly listen to all your exercises."

"Really?" the left corner of his mouth twitched upward as he took the instrument. "I usually practice for two hours each day."

"T—two hours?" I spluttered. I barely spend a few minutes rehearsing spells every week. And I consider myself dedicated! ...in a way.

Elwin nodded knowingly. "I tried to learn the flute as a boy, but I hadn't the patience or the dedication."

"...two hours?" I blinked.

"Sometimes longer, when I was first learning," Riordan added, plucking a string for tuning purposes. "I only need two hours now to maintain my skill."

I stared. "Two hours...and you play the whole time?"

"When I'm not singing. I have to work harder when I do both at once."

Riordan wore a grin as he strummed a simple melody on the lyre, moving his foot to the beat. I don't even know where to put my fingers on a lyre, and he can play it, sing, and walk around all at once. He once told me that he cannot even walk normally—he has to stride heel to toe, else he jars his instrument. So he must concentrate on playing skillfully, singing well, walking properly, AND he has every piece of music memorized! I'd have to have a score, at least.

Ah, but they haven't invented scores yet, have they? Still waiting on those monks...

The Lady watched us with a benign smile. She never does more than smile. In all my years knowing her, she has not once laughed aloud at my wit. Or even at my blunders. Archimedes should show her how to properly appreciate these opportunities.

"Are you still worried about the future, Merlin?" she asked at last.

"Of course," I sighed. "I have seen parts of it, and from what I can tell, it is not a perfect time."

"No time is perfect. Not even the ancient civilizations you idolize."

I sulked. "Athens was so very close to perfection..."

"Now you are looking to the past," the Lady observed.

"Because you turned my eyes there!"

She sighed. "Do not ask me of the future again, Merlin. Knowing too much will lead you to disrupt it."

"What if it needs disrupting?"

"It must be as it will be."

"Merlin," Elwin interrupted, disliking our tense dialogue. "Have you spoken with the centaurs of late?"

I gave the Lady one more disdainful glance before following the conversation where Elwin had led it.

"Yes, actually, though Pollux did not wish to speak at length of the war. He lost his brother to humans."

Elwin looked as though his own brother had died. "How horrible! A blow to the whole herd and to us. Castor was a noble—"

"Pollux prophesied ill fortune for me," I said loudly.

Riordan looked up, disliking my disdain as much as Elwin. He changed his song to a difficult tune, so brilliantly executed it was impossible to ignore. I went from indignant to awed in moments, wondering how his thoughts could keep up with his fingers. The strings threatened to vibrate out of place, yet the sound was soft accompaniment.

He came in next with a sonnet turned song, a slow and lovely contrast to the rippling phrase underneath.

_"Though distant from mine eye, thou art yet near.  
In heart, in thought, in spirit dost thou dwell  
Though ne'er before me shalt my love appear  
For I am banished from her homeland fell.  
Though callous distance parts thee from my sight,  
Though time will spread the void a hundredfold,  
Though absence urges mem'ry to take flight,  
Onto my boundless love for thee I'll hold.  
Though stolen from my side, thou liv'st with me  
Thy image fix-ed in my loving eye.  
Until the day I am again with thee,  
I'll see thee in my thoughts and dreams till when  
At last we meet again, my love, in hea'en."_

I was certain music that complex couldn't possibly come from an instrument that simple. I suspect a hint of magic went into that performance. The song, I fear, was about his lost love. At least he is channelling his grief creatively. Riordan finished and flexed his fingers without a trace of fatigue.

"It appears my skills have not waned after all," he said lightly.

"A fine performance," the Lady said quietly. "But perhaps it is best Merlin and I speak."

Riordan nodded and the Lady led me off a ways where the others could not hear. I became apologetic, feeling like a stubborn child being humored, but she said nothing of my behavior. She merely watched me, her large seer's eyes trained on mine.

"Vivian," I implored. "I must know all I can to help Arthur. I want to warn him, to council him, to comfort him after I am gone."

Some might have called the Lady by her first name out of disrespect, but she knew I asked her as a friend. She stared at me for a long unblinking moment during which I'm quite certain I neglected to breathe. At last she sighed in acquiescence. I couldn't help but brighten as I inhaled again.

"Thank you! I'll fetch my—"

She shook her head. "Your foretelling tools will not be necessary. Just look into my mind."

I blinked in surprise. The Lady Vivian is one of only two people who can close their minds to me—the other, of course, being Nimue. I can understand the Lady's caution. She has Seen things I should not. Nimue, however...

I accepted the Lady's invitation with what I hope was humble thanks. Because she had ushered me in, the visions began immediately. First, I saw that which I had already seen on my own: Camelot, the Round Table, a crowned Arthur sitting on his throne, people Maying in peaceful jubilation, knights fingering their swords longingly, Arthur sitting forlornly outside a war tent.

Then began strange and new visions. An impossibly handsome man in polished armor sat high upon his horse in all senses of the phrase. _"C'est moi—Lancelot du Lac,"_ he declared with unnecessary formality. I next saw him jousting...winning...but aiding the wounded afterward. I saw him speaking with Arthur, sitting on his right at the Round Table. I briefly saw him standing with a stunning crowned woman. I wanted to see more, as she was certainly Arthur's queen, but that vision ended abruptly. The Lady did not wish me to see further.

I saw Morgan le Fay, her dark eyes calculating. She smiled, and her eyes turned blue, her hair blonde, and her appearance fair and beguiling.

I saw tournaments, knights assembled in discussion, the beginnings of civilized courts.

I saw what I had suspected since my first vision: my absence in all these. As if reciprocating my mind reading, the Lady allowed me a glimpse of myself walking hesitantly from my beloved woods, following Nimue.

The next vision came more suddenly than the others. I saw a young man with dark hair wearing a malevolent smirk. He reclined irreverently in Arthur's throne, laughing to himself—a mirthless, chilling laugh.

A voice came to me, familiar, yet I could not name the speaker: "Those who are wicked cannot be truly happy. They may be triumphant, yes, but never happy."

The young man seemed to disagree. He threw back his head and laughed again, accompanied by raucous cheers. His sword glinted hungrily at his side.

Something clawed urgently at my mind, tugging me away from the sinister youth.

Yet before I returned to the present, I saw his eyes. They seized my heart and plunged it into freezing waters. _He had Arthur's eyes._ But they were not Arthur's eyes. Where wisdom should have dwelt there was only shrewd cunning, where a sense of humour would twinkle there glimmered dry cynicism, where kind determination shone there blazed a power lust. These eyes were hardened, obdurate versions of the King's.

I let out a cry of shock as I saw the present again. I saw the Lake, my friends a ways down its shore, and the Lady looking at me worriedly. I searched her face for answers, as her mind no longer provided them.

"Who was that?" I asked.

The Lady sighed. "I did not intend you to see so much of him. I merely wanted you to recognize the threat he poses that you might warn Arthur if you so wish. He—my visions of him are somehow difficult to contain."

"And he—" I faltered. "He will bring about Camelot's downfall?"

"Not he alone, but yes. Anger loves a leader."

The Lady sighed, more drained than I. She must have taken the mental fatigue upon herself. I gently led her back to her seat at the edge of the waters. She stared out over the reflective surface, still looking at something I could not see.

"Do not ask me of Camelot's future again." She said.

It sounded like a request, almost a plea, but I knew it was an order.

"No," I murmured, glad to follow it. "I'll not ask again."

I sank onto a rock, feeling old. I don't like to feel old. I have always felt younger the older I've grown, priding myself that my beard is the only confirmation of my age. Yet I sat there—_slumped_ there, feeling every season upon me. I understood suddenly why so many aged people stand with such poor posture; the weight of one's years bends the spine.

"Merlin?"

I glanced up. Riordan was gazing at me with either wonder or intense confusion.

"You were unmoving," he said. "And I—I could have sworn you'd become part of that rock."

I smirked beneath my beard. "I do hope I have not become that gray."

Elwin rushed to reassure me. "Oh, no! Your eyes still shone more brightly than any stone. I suppose they gleam yet when you sleep, and would give off new starlight did you not close your lids."

I laughed at that and Riordan laughed too. The Lady granted us another distant smile, but her thoughts were not among our company. I spoke for a while with my friends of all those things friends must speak of and departed. The others took my cue and left soon after. We turned and waved back to the Lady, who stood as if to wave back but merely placed her hand on the rock I had been sitting on. Riordan and Elwin dismissed it as her usual dreaminess and took their leave. I frowned, a tugging sensation jarring my brain like a poorly handled instrument.

That laughing man was perhaps the most disturbing vision I have ever had, but as the Lady Vivian said, "It must be as it will be."

**Midday:**

I returned to my cottage expecting to have an uneventful afternoon, but someone had planned otherwise.

Nimue was trying to persuade a recalcitrant Archimedes to hold a message for her. He sat stubbornly on the windowsill while she leaned gracefully over the shrub growing beneath it. She held out to him a piece of parchment graced with her neat, flowing script and he fluffed his plumage haughtily, turning his tail on her. Nimue pursued him, nudging his wing with the corner of the parchment, but he continued to act most contrary. Nimue made a face of mixed frustration, urgency, and amusement.

"Come now," she was saying. "Can you not hold this note until his return? I am not asking you to deliver it. Merely keep it beneath your talons and make sure he sees it!"

Archimedes fanned his tailfeathers cheekily.

Nimue sighed. "Can you at least tell me when he'll be back?"

Archimedes shrugged innocently. Both Nimue and I recognized the deviousness of this gesture.

"Don't play dumb with me," she snorted. "I know you to be the wisest owl in these parts. You understand me perfectly and you are more than capable of relaying a simple message."

Archimedes ignored her, immune to her appeals to his pride. But Nimue is just as stubborn as he. She merely changed her tactic.

"Of course, I could be overestimating you merely because you belong to such a sage wizard. Perhaps I am projecting his intelligence onto you. Wishful thinking, I suppose. You really aren't the wisest owl in the land, anyway. My owl Camilla can take messages too, and she is very agreeable."

Archimedes turned and blinked dubiously at her. He stared for a long time, even by owl standards, and at last extended his leg. I approached applauding and both parties whirled to gaze guiltily at me.

"You got Archimedes to agree to something," I chuckled. "That is quite an accomplishment. A feat many brave wizards have failed at. Unfortunately, a message is now unneeded, as I've returned."

Archimedes snapped his leg back into place. He glared at me as though daring me to say it hadn't been there all along. Nimue gave me a much warmer greeting.

"I'm glad you turned up," she smiled. "I had hoped to speak with you in person. The message had been my—"

Archimedes hooted loudly and flew back inside, knocking over my newly constructed globe in the process. Nimue blinked after him, letting the rest of her sentence die. I resolved to actually turn Archimedes into a newt this time.

Truly.

I've said it before, but I mean it.

I haven't gotten around to it yet, but I will.

Documenting my life comes first, you know. Now I really must continue...

So Nimue tucked the unneeded message away and told me that she wanted to know when our lessons would actually begin. Her eagerness both pleased and startled me. I told her she could return tomorrow, but she seemed disappointed that it couldn't be sooner. I explained that I had important projects to complete, mumbling apologetically about Arthur's lessons, Riordan's wand, and Elwin's robes. Nimue looked as dejected as she could without resorting to pouting. She said she understood. I do not doubt this, but understanding something doesn't mean you like it.

"I shall see you tomorrow, then," she sighed.

It was the kind of sigh that makes you mourn for the desolate one that uttered it and swear vengeance on whatever caused them such grief. I suddenly wanted to break all my engagements and silence that sigh, but my senses returned and I nodded.

"I look forward to it," I replied, attempting vainly to lift her spirits.

She probably wasn't nearly as upset as she appeared, but the way she was acting demanded sympathy. I often feel both disgust and admiration for her manipulative skill. She granted me a small smile and waved a bit as she went, probably an invitation for me to run after her, swearing to change my plans just for her.

Well, I am sorry Nimue, but last I checked my life did not revolve around you.

...now my globe can't revolve, either. Stupid owl. Really must turn him into a newt.

**A Short While Later:**

In rummaging around my desk looking for tools to repair my globe, I have come across some stray pages of my journal from several days ago. I checked them and discovered that the annals of my life do seem to focus quite a lot on Nimue.

Not a very accurate account.

Really, my life does not revolve around her.

The very idea is ridiculous, preposterous, far-fetched, and...for lack of further adjectives, _silly_.

On the subject of adjectives, while I was reading some of my previous records I discovered some horrifying errors. Among other things, I absently wrote "weather" instead of "whether," and misspelled "eunuch." How embarrassing! Fortunately, most rules of spelling and grammar will not be established for centuries.

However, if I ever use of the wrong form of "it's/its," you have permission to give me the severest of paper cuts.

**Afternoon:**

Arthur has made tremendous strides in his studies. Our last lesson seems to have given him a voracious appetite for learning.

About time.

I admit I was taken a bit off guard. He covered several days' worth of lessons in a few hours. I knew when he really put his mind and a lot of effort into it, he'd—but really! I hadn't planned on it being today. I suppose I should have had more faith in the boy in this regard, but he usually sleeps through all my lectures.

His enthusiasm is on an eerie parallel with Nimue's. However, I doubt lessons with Nimue will be nearly as productive. She spends too much time...socializing. She's easily distracting. _Distracted_. Yes, that's what I meant to write.

BLAST! I said only give me paper cuts when I make a grammatical mistake, not a—

Curious. I've bloodied one of the loose pages from earlier. It's the record of this morning's vision.

Surely not everything that happens to me is an evil omen? Dreams are enough. I kept glancing nervously at Arthur today as though expecting...

I must stop dwelling on all these depressing prophecies.

**Evening:**

I do not understand how that woman thinks.

She must not do it very often.

You'll recall I wasn't thinking very highly of Nimue after she left just short of whining this morning? I was under the impression that she wasn't too pleased with me for postponing our lesson. I imagined she would go home and brood and sigh until someone came along to feel sorry for her. I felt not a jot of pity for her.

But you know what she actually did? Instead of going home and pouting, she spent what were surely many tiring hours weaving a robe for Elwin because I'd mentioned it. Her owl Camilla just brought it by. It is a splendid thing, soft black lined in gold. Though handsome, it is not too extravagant for my humble friend. The note tied neatly atop the folds of fine fabric said that Nimue was sorry for her childish behavior today, but she "had been looking forward to our lesson together as a child looks forward to a holiday."

That gesture can only be described as thoughtful. She couldn't have put all that effort in merely to redeem herself. Her message actually requested I not tell Elwin who made the robes.

From a whining wench to an anonymous saint in a day.

I don't know what to make of her.

Archimedes knows exactly what he thinks of Nimue's gift and was not afraid to let me know. He retched loudly, bugging his large eyes, and coughed up a mess of fur and bones onto the new robe. I rose with every intention of following through on the newt threat, but the robe glowed gold and was clean. I raised a brow, impressed with Nimue's skill at a magical loom.

Camilla hooted with a sort of dignified triumph. Archimedes turned to glare at her, but she fluffed her feathers and blinked demurely at him. Camilla is a motley sort of owl, mostly cream in colour dappled with shades of brown. There's a streak of mahogany on her head that I think makes her look like a chicken, but Archimedes failed to draw upon this similarity for his retort.

Actually, he failed to come up with any kind of retort. He stared at her even longer than he had started at Nimue. Camilla tilted her head at him, curious, looking all the more like a chicken in my eyes. She seemed to shrug and flew off. Archimedes must have found the pose attractive, though, for he tore from his trance and took off after her.

Thank goodness I never react that way to—

How can I still hear him laughing when he's outside?! Hypocrite.


	9. Twirling Lessons

**Author's Notes: **I hope to redeem myself with this new, fairly entertaining chapter. The TV-movie Merlin was the on the sci-fi channel this weekend, and it inspired me. Despite some blatantly ninties special effects and weird/poorly dubbed accents, it's a really good film. I like the story, the writing, the costumes, and the noise Excalibur makes when unsheathed: "Shiiiieeeoooorrrrreeeaarrrrooowwww!" Kinda like a metal didgeridoo. Anyway, the weekend allowed me ample writing time to put my renewed inspiration to use. Does anyone else think my eight-year-old Nimue is like Estella from Great Expectations? "What are you doing, boy?" Actually, I think Nimue was nicer than Estella. Just read and see what you think. Enjoy the Archie and Camilla allusions and Merlin's lovesickness. He's happy, but he's still insan--er, lovably eccentric.  
I apologize now for all my inconsistent British spellings. My spell check likes to fix things automatically, and then sometimes I'm not sure how things should be written. Just bear with me and remember what Merlin said about the rules of grammar and spelling not being invented yet.  
Thanks again to all my lovely reviewers. You're all so smart, getting all the mythological references. Anyone know why the last sentence of this chapter is ominous? Read it and see. Please!  
**  
A Short While Later:**

When one woman becomes less irritating, another steps forth to take up the torch.

Morgan le Fay is a persistent wench. Because Archimedes was...occupied...she found another means to convey her message swiftly. I was sitting in my most comfortable chair near the hearth as I wrote, keeping to myself quite contentedly, when that unwelcome face appeared in my fireplace.

I was startled, of course. Morgan looked impatient—and, I am pleased to note, uncomfortable, as she had to crouch before her own fireplace in order for the magic to work properly—and rolled her eyes as I turned my jump into a leap to my feet. I threw my quill and parchment onto the chair and glared at her.

"What are you doing?" I demanded. "I invented that spell!"

"So you are the only one who may use it?" she snorted.

"No, I--" I stayed my tongue, thinking that I hadn't wanted _her_ to use it.

"You know that all new discoveries are shared with and by the council," she continued.

I clenched my teeth. "Of course."

Today her eyes were a vivid green. I hope she had not changed them that colour to match a certain dress. Then again, if she were wearing that dress, it would be quite sooty right now. She was not thinking of the state of her clothes, however. Those green eyes roved my home's interior with their usual contempt. To spite her, I surreptitiously made a map fall to the floor to create further disarray.

"Why are you using—that spell—to contact me?" I asked. "There are countless other forms of communication you could have used. If you weren't too dignified a lady, I'd suggest you use it merely to incense me."

Morgan sniffed (she soon regretted it, inhaling copious amounts of soot). "It was the fastest way. I had to speak with you." She coughed, gazing again about the room. "Still hardly fit for civilized life, yet your dwelling seems cleaner than before—despite your trick with the map."

I colored beneath my beard.

"You have attempted to 'tidy up,' Merlin," Morgan smirked. "Are you expecting someone?"

She knew.

I sat down again, feigning nonchalance. "It is no concern of yours if I am, now is it? It is not the council's business who I do and do not entertain in my own home."

Morgan's green eyes flashed.

"I know this," she said quietly. "I speak to you independently."

"Oh?"

She stared at the floor, not seeing the layer of dirt and feathers. "I really do not think you should teach Nimue."

"Who said anything about teaching?" I inquired with dangerous calm.

"I know about it all, old one," she hissed. "Yes, I've been intruding on your affairs and finding means of spying on you, but that is not the point!"

"It's not?" I raised a brow. "If that is not your point, then your real point must be very important indeed."

"Nimue is dangerous!" Morgan snapped.

I templed my fingers and spoke softly into them. "This I know."

"You have been told by others, not only myself." Morgan persisted. "Obviously, you do not trust my judgment, but what of theirs? You think my beliefs are my sole motive in turning you from Nimue, but they only reinforce what I and everyone else know! Will you not heed us?"

I lowered my hands and looked at her evenly. "Nimue is dangerous. Many have told me this. I believe them—even you. By my beard, even the stars have warned me! Yet I care not. If she undoes my spells, I can weave more. If she steals my enchantments—well, you already have. If she leads me away, which I know she will, I shall gladly follow even if we fly 'neath the sea. If she kills me, I'll be heartbroken, yes, but I've lived so long already I'd only regret that she was the one who ended my life."

"You love her."

Morgan had difficulty saying the words, choked with disgust and wonderment.

I smiled, amused that the first soul I admitted it to would be Morgan le Fay. "Yes."

"Very well," Morgan sneered. "You were warned. I shall not weep when she destroys you."

"It takes a destroyer of men to know one, Morgan."

She snarled and yanked her head from the fireplace. I settled back and stewed in my chair, lighting my pipe and recovering my parchment and quill from beneath the cushion. Archimedes at last flew back in, settling on his perch with a suspicious satisfaction. He utterly ignored my dark looks and began preening. I noticed his tailfeathers were disheveled.

Well.

No comments for that. I'll leave the assumptions to my unconscious mind.

**Morning:**

My dreams were mercifully free of certain owls.

I arose this morning with the intent of only fixing the fallen map, but I ended up scouring the whole cottage. My idea of clean, however, is nowhere near Morgan's impossible standards. Her obsession with immaculateness is like that of a grandmother.

Heh. She, a grandmother! She has only just come of age, yet she already gets involved in the council and scrutinizes the dust levels of other people's abodes just like an old woman.

Admitting that I love Nimue has lifted a leaden mask. I can now say that I wasted an hour "tidying up" so everything will look presentable for her. I can now say I look forward to seeing her. I even look forward to her attempts at manipulation.

I wonder if she is trying to seduce me? I have never been seduced before. It sounds quite delightful.

Archimedes made a revolted noise at that, but I held up a mahogany feather I'd found while cleaning and he said no more.

What a marvelous day.

**Moments Later:**

Where is my comb?

**Moment Later:**

Now _I'm_ preening. How terribly amusing! I've no time to ponder whether that was dramatic irony. I really must continue preening.

**Moments Later:**

It really is ironic that _Merlin_ is preening.

**Moments Later:**

Right. Getting ready.

**A Short While Later: **

I'm ready.

Why isn't she here?!

**Evening:**

Nimue arrived shortly after I demanded of you, my dear parchment, why she had not come. She wore long blue robes and a smile. Blue is my favourite colour on her. Well, I really love every colour on her. But blue is particularly flattering. The robes, I surmised, were her own work: attractive but functional. They lacked the tight, restricting cut and flowing, flammable sleeves that Morgan favors. Nimue was prepared to work.

"Nimue," I beamed. "You seem eager to begin."

Her smile twisted playfully. "You know I am, and have been since you first agreed to teach me."

"Yes, yes," I chuckled and lead her around behind the cottage.

"Are we not conducting lessons indoors?" she inquired.

She did not sound eager, like Arthur, nor did she sound disappointed. She was simply curious.

"My home is frankly too cramped and too crammed with precious things." I grimaced, remembering my spoiled timepieces and globe.

"Of course," she nodded and took out her wand. "Shall we begin here, then?"

I tapped my staff against the ground, loosing my wand from the top. When my wand is fixed within the staff, the only visible part is the handle. I carved it long ago with intricate veins that look like roots from one angle and talons from another. I smiled as I held it, though not entirely from pride.

"Let's start by seeing what you already know," I suggested.

Nimue nodded, smiling slightly. "Very well."

She knew quite a lot. I expected her to know a fair amount, being a grown witch, but she surprised me with her brilliant execution. She was familiar with some spells so recent I was certain only council members knew them. And of course, I already knew she could keep me out of her mind.

Still, she was lacking in a few minor areas. I could easily remedy this. I had no need to begin slowly as I would with a beginner, and even at a faster pace she learned rapidly. Nimue never forgot something once I told it to her and rehearsed it tirelessly until she had perfected it. She was the ideal pupil. We covered much in a few hours' time.

The sun began sinking wearily into a crimson nest lined with violet. I did not believe so much time had passed, but the hours fly quickly when you enjoy them. I regretfully informed Nimue that our time was over, reassuring her with praise of her great progress. We had only a bit left to covernext time before moving on to more complex magics.

Nimue beamed. "Thank you. I look forward to our next lesson—but I'll not badger you this time." She winked and tugged my beard. "Much."

My awkwardness gone, I reached behind her ear and produced a flower. I handed it to her and returned the wink.

"I don't think I shall mind you badgering me."

She blinked, unused to me matching her philandering. Addled, she shook her head and settled for a bemused smirk.

"Dear fool," she murmured, and left.

She is gone. Just like that. Really, where did the time go? I've only managed to get...four paragraphs and fourteen independent lines out of today's lesson. Perhaps next time I can put one of my hourglass experiments to use...

No matter. Today has been a fabulous day regardless of length. I got to spend time with my two favourite things: Nimue and magic.

And Archimedes can't say anything about it because I can let out a cough that sounds remarkably like _"Camilla!"_

**Moments Later:**

Still...I hope Nimue won't continue being confused by my new outlook. Has admitting I love her taken away that edge she thought she had? Have I stolen away her seductress's power?

No.

She's only half-veela, after all.

I have been undermining her veela vanity since first we met.

Ah.

I realize I have often said I have felt this way or that about Nimue "since first we met," yet I have not related our first meeting.

Oh, it was an age ago. Yet with my backward remembering, it seems a vision of tomorrow. We were betwee...what...eight and ten? Eleven at most. I was out exploring, as always

I had discovered my magical talent early, so at this age I spent most of my time experimenting with it. I know I took my natural gifts for granted, turning flowers into toadstools whenever I wished. My current experiment was to turn myself into something. I amused myself turning my hair blue for a time, but had yet to perfect transformation. In the meantime, I liked running up and down hills, building momentum on the way up and careening back down, often narrowly dodging wildlife. I loped all over the countryside, through fields, across plains, past forests, near mountains. I spread my arms and imagined I was flying, not knowing that in a few short years I would achieve that dream.

I came flying haphazardly down a hill that day only to find I had failed once again to plan ahead. The salt in the wind that tossed my hair should have alerted me to the change in terrain, but my head was with my heart in the clouds. There was a rock face at the bottom of the hill and I was going down it much too quickly to stop before running into it. I braced myself for the inevitable scraped elbows (to which I was well used) and prayed I'd be able to make the stone softer with my sketchy spells.

My prayers were answered in a most curious fashion. I ended up running right through the wall of rock and into the cave hidden behind it. I did not know it then, but the entire area was spelled for secrecy. In my panic, I had tapped and reversed one of those spells, winning myself entry. I stumbled, wondering why there was suddenly rock underfoot instead of grass. I staggered to a clumsy halt, but, feeling a young boy's pride whenever he accomplishes anything, I threw up my arms in triumph. I had saved myself a skinned knee!

Before I could gaze long at my surroundings, a sound appealed to my more vulnerable sense. Soft song echoed off the cave walls. I had always loved music, but as my talent lay in magic alone, I could make none of my own. Entranced, I followed the sound down a corridor of stone and entered a grotto. Water ran down the walls, a soothing accompaniment. A girl my age was twirling barefoot in the center of the cavern, humming sweetly to herself. Her silver hair swished round as she spun and her dark blue dress floated behind her. She looked like a wave, her hair the crest and her dress the deep water.

I have always been overly inquisitive. I called to her and interrupted her dance.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

She started but followed her last spin through to face me. Some little girls might have blushed or fled, but she stared me down. Her silver eyes were like moons reflected in water.

"What are YOU doing?" she demanded. "You aren't supposed to be here, boy."

"I came through your wall," I said matter-of-factly.

The girl sniffed. "No humans can come through our walls."

"I did."

Her eyes narrowed to half-moons. "What are you doing here, boy?"

"Watching you twirl."

"I was not twirling!" she stomped her unshod foot.

"Yes you were. You twirl quite well."

"It is—inappropriate for young ladies to twirl," she stammered. "Twirling in circles is childish. Ladies only twirl when they dance. Twirling just to twirl is—"

"Fun?" I offered.

"Yes—no! Ladies _dance_ for fun. We dance and we sing—"

"You _were_ singing."

"I wasn't singing properly."

"There's a proper way to sing?"

"For us there is. We have to use our powers to—"

"I use my powers to have fun," I declared.

She eyed me doubtfully. "You have powers?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "I'm a wizard!" I struck a ridiculous pose. "I'll put a spell on you!"

She swished her skirt defiantly. "Not if I make you fall in love with me."

"Is that what your powers do?"

"When I sing properly."

"Are you a siren?"

"No—I'm a veela."

"No you're not." I stepped nearer, peering at her thoughtfully. "You have some human in you."

She bristled but did not deny it. "How can you tell?"

"I can tell lots of things."

I lost interest in our conversation and began wandering about the grotto, examining the rivulets streaming down the walls. The girl followed me, unsatisfied. I ignored her and played at stopping the flow of the water. She waited, expecting me to treat her like a lady and ask her what she wanted. I merely froze the water and melted it again.

"Well?" she huffed.

"No, it's a spring. Wells come from deeper underground."

"I know that!" she cried. "I mean: Well, what kinds of things can you tell about?"

"Oh. Magic things. Nature things."

She fidgeted impatiently. "What _kinds_ of magic and nature things?"

"All kinds." I pointed to the right. "The ocean's that way. It's high tide." I pointed to the left. "If you say '_exeunt sinistre_' by that rock that looks like a bird, you can get out through an opening that will appear."

She blinked. "How did you know that?"

"I just know."

"There must be more to it than that?"

I stared at the ground in thought. "I'm kind of like a bird. I feel as though I'm high above everything; I can see it all while everyone else only sees part of it. I'm wiser and freer than they are, but since I'm the only bird in the sky it gets kind of lonesome. Sometimes I wish I could land, but I know I shouldn't. When I land, the land will crumble without my eye upon it."

"Surely the other wizards are like birds, too? Perhaps they are merely lower in the sky," she offered.

I shook my head. "No, I'm—different, for some reason. I'm the only bird. That's why my name is Merlin, I suppose."

"Well, Merlin," the girl smiled. "Even though the land will crumble when you come to earth, Nimue will be here to greet you."

"Is that your name? Nimue?"

Before she could answer, I heard her name again. An enchanting, musical voice called to her from another stone chamber.

"_Nimue!"_

I suddenly wanted to answer the voice as though I had been the one called. I needed to go to whoever it was. Nimue blanched and pushed me to the bird-shaped rock.

"I told you that you aren't supposed to be here!"

"Wait--!"

But Nimue always was a fast and attentive learner. She whispered, "_exeunt sinistre"_ and shoved me through the opening. It sealed itself as soon as I passed through. I was again outside the secret cave, staring at the rock face I had nearly dashed myself upon.

You see, she has always been the way she is, though back then it was easier for me to unearth her more human traits because I was not entranced by her veela beauty. Though I cannot see into her mind, I know that she still acts the part of a seductress but has human ambitions.

Those ambitions, of course, could be some of the more evil tendencies of our species.

Still I care not. I cannot forget the little girl twirling just to twirl, the woman cursing a tyrant, the flirt tugging my beard.

It is late. The flower on my desk has opened. It has no effect; I am already thinking of Nimue.

In a spirit of nostalgia, I should work with her on sealing spells next.


End file.
